


This Crooked Path

by bookscorpion, Brain Picker (bookscorpion)



Series: Where Must We Go [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Shadowrun: Hong Kong
Genre: Action, Captivity, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dubious Consent, Duncan's view of things is not the most reliable, Eventual Happy Ending, Everything Hurts, Fandom Blind Friendly, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Shadowrun characters in the Wasteland, Unhealthy Relationships, for resilient readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 55,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/pseuds/bookscorpion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/pseuds/Brain%20Picker
Summary: There used to be a great many orks, some people say. Before. Others say they were just stories and never existed.A road warrior and a runaway slave are thrown together by chance. Will the Wasteland grind them to dust or will they carve out a life together, despite everything standing in their way?~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~In the latest chapter:'I found a place. I think it's a Green Place. I can't promise, we need to go look at it. But I've never seen anything like it.' Rhys' heart beats swiftly. He wants to leave right now, confirm what he thinks. Make sure no one else takes it away from them.A home, to be found.
Relationships: Rhys Morgan/Duncan Wu
Series: Where Must We Go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563829
Comments: 311
Kudos: 21
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	1. Windfall

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tags in the A/N for each chapter as needed!
> 
> Prequel to [Building a Ruin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437643) \- can both be read on their own

  


There used to be a great many orks, some people say. Before. Others say they were just stories and never existed.

Whatever the truth, Duncan certainly exists. His tusks and pointed ears, his sheer bulk and height set him apart at first glance. He has never seen anyone like himself but he doesn't mind. Or so he thought.

Right now, he stares down at the man curled up and half-buried in the ditch beside the road. A dead body to scavenge, Duncan had assumed, approaching carefully in case it's a trap. It's not, but the man not only isn't dead, he also has pointed ears and tusks. Smaller and sharper than Duncan's, but they are there. 

The sound of approaching bikes tears Duncan out of his wonder. 'Fuck.' He flips the stranger over and cuffs his hands on his back, pats him down before picking him up and running back to the car. The man struggles and groans, but he's too out of it to fight back seriously.

No weapons. No food. No water. He must have wanted to die. Or _someone_ must have wanted him to die.

Not today. Not until Duncan has spoken to him. Throwing him on the back seat, Duncan gets behind the wheel and guns the engine. He doesn't feel like waiting around to see who's on those bikes. Instead, he tries to put distance between himself and them and drives towards a hideout he knows. 

The bikes gain on him, raising a cloud of dust behind them until they have reached what passes for a road. There, they gather even more speed. Duncan doesn't recognise them, but he seriously doubts they just want to chat.

He gathers a handful of caltrops and throws them, careful not to get any under his own tires, in the hope that the bikes are still so far away that they don't notice. Scrabbling in the footwell of the passenger seat, he pulls up a couple of bottles and the shotgun, holds it in the crook of his left arm.

One of the bikes skids, almost wipes out and then rights itself again. The others leave it behind and close in on Duncan. Four of them, the fifth slowed down but not out. They are _close_ , close enough to take aim with harpoon guns.

A harpoon strikes the car, the impact hollow and loud even over the engine, but it misses the tire. A quick look in the rearview mirror and Duncan pulls a ripcord, dropping tire shredders from the back of the car right in their path. The bikes swerve wildly to avoid them and Duncan curses - they're smart enough not to group together closely. Still, one of them goes down, bike and driver rolling.

Behind him, the stranger struggles to sit up. 

'Keep your head down!' It would be just Duncan's luck if he gets shot before Duncan has his answers.

Another thud, this one sending a harpoon right through the back window, leaving a hole and sticking in the passenger seat. Shouts from the bikers, angry. They are after the stranger and don't want to hurt him. So he _is_ worth something, to someone. 

Duncan very much isn't. One of the bikes closes in, swerves to the side of the car and Duncan looks down the barrel of a gun. The blast of his own shotgun deafens him and he has no idea if his his opponent got off a shot. But no matter, the man loses control of the bike and goes down, an arm or a leg going under the car, a bump in the road.

Three more left. Duncan wishes he had time to untie the stranger and hand him the molotov cocktails. The man has managed to kneel on the backseat. He definitely has a death wish.

One of the bikes suddenly wipes out, front wheel continuing on its own for a second, dragging the fork. Driver and bike spread out on the road, directly in the path of the other two. No amount of swerving helps and both dive over the handlebars, hitting the road in a bone-shattering impact. One gets buried under his bike when it lands directly on top of him after a flip. The crash is very quiet in Duncan's ears but it's a beautiful sound and he gives a harsh laugh. 

He looks back and the stranger is lying on the backseat, motionless. Blood is dripping from his nose. _Fuck._ But Duncan doesn't stop. He reaches for the man's neck, arm twisted awkwardly, and finds his pulse. Fast and strong. Good enough. He keeps driving.  
  


  
  
The stranger remains out cold throughout the drive. He comes to a little when Duncan drags him out of the car again. Duncan unlocks the handcuffs and chains him with one hand to the car. Then he takes out a canteen and gives him water in little sips. 

It takes a long time and he is free to let his gaze wander. Long dark hair spilling out of a ponytail, impossibly light skin covered by tattoos of--Duncan thinks they might be animals? And plants. The coarse robe covers clothes that are better made than most of what Duncan has ever seen before. They're so very soft. 

Soft - that describes this man as a whole, Duncan thinks. Not a fighter. Maybe a History Man? But not someone who's good at surviving in the Wasteland. Someone who ran away, maybe, to land in that ditch and to be chased like that. So he must have _some_ sort of useful skill, to be kept alive and around by a protector, or an owner. 

Duncan will find out, just as he will find out if this man has ever seen anyone who is like them.

The man's breathing changes and Duncan can tell he's truly awake and aware of his surroundings. Duncan settles back, out of reach, cradling his gun in his lap. Neither of them moves for a while until the man sits up straight, brushes his hair from his face and stares at Duncan, face unreadable. He pulls on the chain, but he does it slowly and secretively. If Duncan hadn't been paying attention, he would have missed the movement.

'I just have some questions. Didn't want you to run off.' Duncan doesn't offer to untie him. 'What's your name?' He smiles, tries to put him at ease. If needed, he has no problem asking his questions the painful way but there's always time for that when the nice way doesn't work. Duncan likes keeping his options open.

His captive is _not_ at ease. Resigned, maybe. He looks up at Duncan and his eyes widen when he takes him in, pointed ears and all. 

'Rhys.'

It sounds a little exotic, the way he says it, and Duncan repeats it, tries to get the r-sound right. 

'I'm Duncan. Do you know others? Like us?' Duncan gets right to the point.

'No. I've seen two, long ago, but they were dead. Were you born like this?' Rhys speaks softly but holds Duncan's gaze.

Duncan frowns. 'Yeah. What do you think, someone cursed me?'

'I turned. I was just like the others and then I got sick. I changed. After, I was like this. I got sold not long after that. No one wanted me around.' Rhys shrugs. 

'What do you mean, you _changed_ \- why?!' Duncan has never heard anything like this.

Rhys shrugs again. 'I don't know why. It just happened, not long before-- When I wasn't fully grown. Not even half as old as I'm now. I thought I'd die and so did everyone else. But I didn't, I just turned. I only learned about orks much later.'

Disappointment settles in Duncan - Rhys knows no more about this than he does, it seems. Is just as lost as he is. But he can't help but be fascinated by him. 

'Are you worth keeping around?' The blunt question is meant to shock Rhys. He can't tell if it works. Rhys keeps still, his breath measured. 'How did you get stranded out there?'

This gets a reaction from Rhys, he drops his gaze and then looks up again. 'I ran away. There wasn't exactly time for planning but the Wastes are better than where I was.' He smiles, showing fangs almost as long as his tusks. Duncan doesn't have _those_. 

'If you've got use for a History Man, then it's your lucky day.' His tone never rises above a monotone. He doesn't seem to care whether Duncan leaves him to die.

History Man. Duncan _doesn't_ have much use for one. He doesn't fear them like a lot of other people do. He doesn't believe in curses or magic. But he knows that the big warlords like keeping one around. So maybe he can sell Rhys to one. 'Going to take you to a settlement. Who did you run from?' 

'Glowstick.' When Duncan frowns, Rhys sketches a quick map in the sand between, stabs a dot where Duncan found him and points at some wavy lines. 'He lives here, with the Dry Husks. The ones that tried to catch us just now. Please, don't bring me back there.' 

Duncan looks up at Rhys. For the first time in their talk, Rhys' voice betrays emotion: fear. 

The Dry Husks would probably not be happy to see the man who just killed some of them, even with their History Man in tow. Duncan doesn't particularly want to meet them. It's out of their way, especially when they go to Gas Town as Duncan has planned. And they're not a big clan. Duncan doesn't think it will be a problem to avoid them.

'I won't. We're going to Gas Town.' He throws Rhys the canteen and a strip of lizard jerky. 'Drink slow. We'll start tomorrow, you can get some rest.'

The trip will take them at least a week. Time to find out if Rhys really is as clueless as he seems about what makes them different. Plenty of time to decide if he might be worth keeping around after all, and what his skills are if Duncan does want to sell him. If all else fails, he can sell him at the Thunderdome. People pay to see freaks fight. Duncan knows that well.

Rhys leans back against the car. He doesn't ask about the chain on his wrist or about what will happen once they arrive, he just starts eating like he is starved. It's obvious he's been kept well fed before he ran away into the Wasteland, so he's probably used to getting regular meals. 

_Soft._ Duncan scoffs to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you!
> 
> This is the prequel to [Building a Ruin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437643/chapters/48487082). It can be read on its own, you can go read Building a Ruin right away or you wait until this is finished and _then_ read Building a Ruin.


	2. Erosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They have been on the road for days. Rhys very carefully watches Duncan at all times. It's unnerving. He answers questions when Duncan asks but doesn't volunteer anything._   
>  _So when Rhys speaks up, Duncan almost drops the bowl he's cleaning in surprise._
> 
> Duncan has plans for Rhys. Like any other plan, they don't survive the contact with reality.

'Stop the car!' Rhys sits bolt upright, staring at _something_ ahead of them. 

Duncan can see nothing. But Rhys' tone is urgent and the fact that he says anything at all is unusual enough that Duncan slows. In the few days since he has found Rhys, he has done almost all the talking.

'There's a lizard, a big one. Let me out, I'll get it.' Rhys still stares at the empty desert, just a few meagre plants there.

As far as escape plans go, this one is bad enough that Duncan thinks Rhys might be telling the truth. He brings the car to a halt. When Rhys holds up his cuffed wrist, Duncan unties him and grabs his rifle. 'Ok, go. Don't try to run. I'll aim for your legs if you do. History Men don't need those.' 

Maybe escape isn't what's on Rhys' mind, but dying. Duncan isn't going to let either of those happen.

'I won't try to run.' Rhys doesn't look at him, gets out of the car in slow movements and stalks towards one of the bushes. He stops, walks forward, stops again, eyes never leaving the cluster of plants.

Duncan stands beside the car and watches. He finds himself holding his breath. There's nothing to hear but the low rumble of the engine and the ever present wind. It tears at Rhys' clothes and hair, throws grains of sand at Duncan, tiny stings on his skin. 

Suddenly, Rhys pounces. It's so fast that Duncan reflexively brings up the rifle to aim at him. Rhys turns, holding up a lizard as long as his arm, limp and dead. He ignores the rifle pointed at him and walks back to the car.

Duncan lowers the weapon. He's impressed. Impressed enough that he hands Rhys a knife to butcher the lizards. Not impressed enough that he doesn't chain him up again.

At night, they have some of the lizard, together with a root Rhys dug up. A root he located by walking around a patch of desert he claimed was a good place to look, until he found a dried up stalk that looked like all the other dried stalks to Duncan. 

Duncan chews slowly, thoughtfully. 'Can you track? Animals, people?'

Rhys just nods and Duncan insists: 'Any good at it?'

It gets another nod and Duncan settles back against his rock, watches Rhys eat. There's a living to be made in bounty hunting. But Duncan's own tracking skills aren't that good and it would be useful to have someone who can do it. Not to mention the huge improvement in the quality of food. It might make up for having to share it.

They have been on the road for five days. Rhys very carefully watches Duncan at all times. It's unnerving. He answers questions when Duncan asks but doesn't volunteer anything. 

So when Rhys speaks up, Duncan almost drops the bowl he's cleaning in surprise. 

'You can see in the dark, can you? Better than other people?'

'Mhm. Thought everyone can, but they can't. Didn't know it was an ork thing.' Duncan hesitates. 'Do you think there are more of us? Or used to be?'

'I do think there are more of us. More orks.' Rhys weighs his words but Duncan doesn't think he is lying. 'And I have read there used to be many more. We had our own language, our own communities. But it seems we weren't smarter than the humans about the whole oil thing.' He shrugs.

Duncan sits back on his haunches and wishes Rhys would say more. He likes Rhys' soft voice with its strange lilt, it's pleasant to listen to. Talking to someone like this, sharing food and travelling together, it's not something he's used to. But he suddenly isn't that eager to sell Rhys any longer. 

'Have you ever thought to go looking for others?' Maybe they could do that, together. Eventually.

Rhys laughs and it would be a nice sound if it wasn't so bitter. 'I thought about it, yes. Many times. But I never--had the opportunity.'

With a non-committal sound, Duncan takes their bowls and stores them away in the car. He needs to sleep on this. 

The wind has picked up, tiny sand devils starting to dance and to merge. Duncan stares up at the sky, clouds racing and darkening the stars. Not a big storm but unpleasant enough.

'We should sleep in the car. Get in, we can share the backseat.' He trusts his ability to sleep lightly.

Rhys nods but doesn't look at Duncan. He climbs onto the backseat and makes himself as small as he can. With the foot wells turned into a storage crate, and a bedroll and Rhys' cloak spread on its lid, they can barely fit. It's uncomfortable and they only find a position that works after much shoving, shuffling and rearranging of limbs. 

Outside, the wind has risen into a steady howl, prowling around their car, rocking it on its suspension. Searching for a way in. Drifts of sand hiss and scratch at the metal and the windows, looking for cracks.

Rhys is pressed as close as he can get to the front seats, his back to Duncan. There is a breath of space between them; they don't touch. But it's not so much than Duncan can miss Rhys shivering. 

He thinks it's out of fear and is about to say something when Rhys turns over and reaches out to him. The movement is slow, much too slow to mistake it for aggression and Duncan allows him to touch. To slip his hand under Duncan's shirt. Rhys watches Duncan's reaction with wide eyes.

Slender fingers trace Duncan's ribs, wander to his breast bone and lightly skim over his nipples. It's been so long since Duncan has been touched this softly, he can barely remember it. It leaves him wanting more.

He pulls his knife in its sheath from his belt and puts it behind himself. Just because he enjoys this doesn't mean he's about to get stabbed. Rhys has frozen, back pressed against the driver's seat.

'No, don't stop-' Duncan shows his empty hands.

Rhys shifts closer again and runs his palm down Duncan's side, fingers dipping into the waistband of his pants. The chain rattles when Rhys moves his other hand and palms Duncan's cock through the fabric.

Duncan almost chokes on his own spit in surprise. This is going a lot faster than he expected after the first hesitant touch. But he's not about to complain, opens his legs to make room.

Even when he's fiddling with the buttons and the belt, Rhys doesn't take his eyes off of Duncan's face. He keep watching, biting his lip, the tips of his fangs only just visible. In the space between them, their breaths are warm and Duncan can smell the faint aroma of smoke from Rhys, with a sweet note he cannot place.

Duncan reaches up and touches Rhys in turn, hand wandering over Rhys' arm up to his neck. It's the first time he touches Rhys' hair and he's fascinated by it. Long and soft, it leaves a slightly oily residue on his fingers when he digs into it to grab a handful. He doesn't pull, just unwraps the leather strip holding it together and runs the strands through his hand.

Out of a reflex, he grips it tight when Rhys' hand slips into his pants. He can't help but give a loud moan and bucks his hips against Rhys.

'-don't have anything for lube.' Duncan can barely speak, he's shuddering so hard. Part of him just wants to ignore the lube problem, but experience has taught him otherwise.

'I can still make you feel good.' Rhys' voice doesn't rise above a whisper. His fingers curl around Duncan's cock, cup his balls, trace the vein on the underside from the root to the tip. With a conscious effort, Duncan relaxes his grip on Rhys' hair, starts petting him again.

Part of him stays watchful for an attack. Another part thinks that Rhys is only doing this so Duncan won't sell him when they reach Gas Town. Most of him doesn't care and just enjoys Rhys' skillful touch. 

Rhys seems to know what he's doing, quickly finds out just how Duncan likes having his cock stroked, his balls fondled. Warm pleasure coiling in his stomach, Duncan thinks about making Rhys suck his cock. Have him on his knees, taking Duncan's cock down his throat. He's sure Rhys would do it.

Imagining it is enough to push Duncan over the edge. He bucks, gripping Rhys' hair tight enough to force back his head. With a cry, Duncan spills himself in Rhys' hand, pulls him close enough to bite his throat. Rhys gives a choked moan, heart beating so fast Duncan can feel his pulse where his tusks dig into Rhys' skin.

Very slowly, Duncan lets go of Rhys and relaxes, gives a last moan when Rhys pulls his hand out of Duncan's pants. Cleaning up is another jumble of limbs and a lot of awkward touching. Duncan isn't very used to being _this_ close to his sexual partners once they're done and not at all to a partner who might be around for longer than just the night. Rhys seems embarrassed and doesn't meet Duncan's eyes. They don't talk.

Once they have settled down again, the wind still creeping around the car, shaking it in sudden gusts, lightning flashing in the distance, Duncan hesitates and then wraps an arm around Rhys. He pulls him close, his chest to Rhys' back and holds him. It's the sensible thing, he tells himself, they use less space that way. And he'll wake up for sure if Rhys tries to leave the car. Rhys gives a quiet gasp at the touch and only gradually grows less tense, but he stays where he is, finally falls asleep. 

Sleep escapes Duncan. Not long until they reach Gas Town and he has to make a decision. Or maybe he won't have to, just now. He could keep Rhys around a bit more, see if he is a good tracker. If he's useful. Duncan can't afford to let him stay otherwise. 

Eventually, he dozes off with his nose buried in Rhys' hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you!
> 
> I'd love to hear from you in the comments if you have any thoughts or just squees or, given the nature of this story, angry shouts in my direction!
> 
> Content info for the chapter:  
> animal death, non graphic  
> smut (handjob)


	3. Fault Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The taste of Gas Town has been on Duncan's tongue all day long, bitter and dark. It sits before them, huddling under a cloud of fumes, the road leading straight down its gullet._  
>  _Rhys hasn't said much since they had set out this morning. He keeps staring ahead and only betrays himself by restlessly fiddling with the cuff around his wrist. The quiet jingle of the chain worms its way into Duncan's brain._  
>  Duncan has to make a decision and Rhys has to live with it.

The taste of Gas Town has been on Duncan's tongue all day long, bitter and dark. It sits before them, huddling under a cloud of fumes, the road leading straight down its gullet.

Rhys hasn't said much since they had set out this morning. He keeps staring ahead and only betrays himself by restlessly fiddling with the cuff around his wrist. The quiet jingle of the chain worms its way into Duncan's brain.

If he can sell Rhys off to a good buyer, he might get rich. At least enough to not have to worry about guzzoline and water for a long while. If not for his knowledge as a History Man, people will want him for how exotic he is. And, as Duncan can confirm by now, Rhys has been well trained to please. He might not talk much but he is very quick in picking up on things he can do to make himself useful. 

His eagerness for sex is one of these things and it will be a great selling point. Rhys has offered sex to Duncan every night since the first time three days ago, even after Duncan has pointed out that it would not change anything about the decision to sell him. 

'It's not about that.' Rhys had smiled and slipped a hand between Duncan's legs. Maybe it isn't, maybe it is. Duncan doesn't care much, he simply enjoys what Rhys has to offer. He still hasn't solved the lube problem, but Rhys is more than capable with just his hands and his mouth. There is no need to force him into anything and Duncan is a little ashamed of his thought of doing so the other night. 

It isn't like he's above violence. He hasn't survived this long by always asking nicely and saying please. But sex is very much one of the things he can have without violence and he appreciates that.

Duncan shakes himself. Here he is, with possibly the most valuable find he has made in a very long time and he lets his cock do the thinking.

He looks over at Rhys who is huddled against the door, as far from Duncan as he can be in the car. It stings Duncan to see it and it stings him even more to think about leaving Gas Town alone. He has never had much use for companionship, or so he had thought. But Rhys is easy to be around and Duncan has already picked up the habit of talking to him. It pleases him when he can draw Rhys out of himself and they have actual conversations even if they only last for a couple of sentences.

Driving on for a few clicks, Duncan chews on his lip, taps a rhythm on the steering wheel. Maybe he should wait for a bit. See if he can find out for sure if there's one of the war lords in the market for a History Man instead of just waltzing into Gas Town and trying his luck. 

Yeah.

He slams the brakes and the car skids to a halt. The dust cloud that has been following them all morning finally catches up and hides Gas Town from view. 

'We're not going to Gas Town. I want to know how much I can sell you for, need to ask around a bit. And I want to see what you can do as a tracker.' Duncan turns the car around and points them at the plains again. His mood has lightened immediately and a little smile curls his lips.

Rhys just nods. But he stops fiddling with the handcuff.  
  


  
  
Rhys nudges Duncan and points. From their spot on top of a plateau, hunkered down between a couple of boulders, they have a good view into the canyon below. It takes Duncan a moment to spot what Rhys has seen: a cleverly hidden small shack made out of corrugated iron, nestled into the canyon wall.

Twitch's hideout. They have followed her for days, finally pointed in this direction by information Rhys has sweet talked out of a trader at a small camp. Duncan has kept well away, aware that his presence would have made the man shut up immediately. With both Rhys' charm and his skill as a tracker, their first three bounty contracts have gone smoothly and Duncan has picked up this one, issued by the People Eater in Gas Town.

Casting about in a wide arc from the camp, Rhys has finally found sand buggy tracks, almost lost to the wind. Duncan doesn't see them even when Rhys points them out, but he follows Rhys' directions. Once it is clear they are headed toward the canyon, they veer off to one side, hide their car and continue on foot.

Mindful of booby traps and lookouts, they make their way to the plateau. Apparently, Twitch does live and work alone. Duncan cannot help but admire her - one single person has to be very resourceful and very fast to pull off the raids that have put her on the bounty list. 

She isn't in sight, but the dune buggy is, hidden under a camouflaged net. Duncan nods at Rhys. 'We'll stay, keep watch. Go in at night.' Time enough to scout her movements. Darkness would give them both an advantage with their ability to see in the dark. If she leaves, they will wait. This is no temporary hideout. This is a home.

Duncan settles down on his stomach in the tiny amount of shade the boulders cast. Rhys sidles over to him and puts his head down, his hood hiding his face. Neither of them moves. Time passes, the sun shifts and the shadows get longer. Duncan breathes evenly, the dry scent of hot sand and rock in his nose. And that sweetness from Rhys. It clings to Rhys' hair, growing fainter by the day. Duncan will often bury his nose in Rhys hair just to smell it and he's sorry it's fading away.

'What _is_ that? That sweet smell in your hair. I like it, but I can't place it.' Duncan doesn't speak louder than a murmur, confident that Rhys will hear him. They have tested it and apparently orks have also better hearing than most humans. Those pointed ears are not just for show.

Rhys doesn't move to look at him. He is better at staying motionless than anyone Duncan has ever met. 'It's the resin of a plant. It smells like this when you burn it and I- it calms me down.' He hesitates. 'If you don't mind, I would like to see if I can find any or trade for it. It doesn't cost much.'

Duncan keeps their earnings and Rhys has never asked for anything for himself before. So Duncan nods. 'Sure. We can afford a little luxury.'

They really can. They make a good team and have already traded in Duncan's car for a bigger truck. Less speed but more room for them and once Duncan is finished tinkering, it will be a lot faster than it looks. 

'Thank you.' Rhys moves his hand and gives Duncan's arm a squeeze. It makes Duncan's heart beat faster. Rhys has a way of doing that, with a touch or a smile. Any thought of selling him is long gone.

After nightfall, they separate. Duncan trusts Rhys not to run, has for a while now, and he trusts him with a gun. He has to or they cannot work together like this.

Twitch has made an appearance once, shortly before dusk. Tall and lanky, with a shock of black hair, almost drowning in a military jacket. She walks with confidence but even in her home, she keeps an eye on her surroundings. She carries a revolver on her hip, slung low. After gathering up water from her condensation setup, she disappears into the shack and a flickering light goes on inside. It's still on now.

Duncan has used his time to study the shack. It's just a lean-to, built against the rock face, and there's a support strut wedged between it and a boulder. It holds the whole thing up. A weak spot.

It will be a hassle to take her alive but she is worth much more that way. So Duncan is willing to risk it.

They have entered the canyon from both sides. Duncan spots Rhys approaching, moving gracefully from one hiding spot to the other until he stops at the agreed place. 

A quick check on the strut, the weak spot really is one. Duncan hefts his short-barrel shotgun and gives the strut a shove to the side, jumps back. For a moment nothing happens. Then the roof starts to slide and the walls collapse inwards. The noise is painful, echoing in the narrow canyon. 

Nothing moves in the wreckage.

Duncan trades a short glance with Rhys and steps closer, pokes through the sheet metal and what broken furniture there is. Nothing.

The gunshot deafens him and he whips round. Shotgun raised, heading for cover. Rhys is on his back, pistol raised in both hands. Twitch stands over him and pulls the trigger of her revolver. Stumbles at the last moment when Rhys kicks at her. Misses. Dirt sprays up right next to Rhys' head.

Duncan is too afraid to hit Rhys. He vaults his cover and runs. Weaving and roaring. A distraction. 

Twitch jumps back, out of Rhys' reach and brings up her gun. Still aimed at Rhys. Duncan charges, barrels into her. He shoves the shotgun forward and pulls the trigger, not bothering to aim. Hard to miss, with the barrel pressed into her stomach. 

Her screams are loud, even over the ringing in his ears. Her legs go out from under her. Duncan kicks her gun out of her hands, kicks her again. Twitch is curled up on the ground, blood flowing from underneath her fingers pressed to her gut. 

No way they can take her back to Gas Town alive now. Duncan takes his knife and cuts her throat. It doesn't take her long to die.

Everything is very quiet except for the high-pitched whine in Duncan's ears. He steps over the blood seeping into the ground and walks over to Rhys. Eyes wide, Rhys stands completely still save for the shivers running over him. He still has his gun in his hands, pointed at the ground.

'Are you hurt?' Duncan reaches for the gun, takes it. Rhys lets him check for injuries. He's fine, only shaking and pale.

'I'm sorry. I fucked up, I'm sorry. I don't know where she came from, she jumped me.' Rhys voice is a frantic whisper, barely audible for Duncan. He stops at the touch of Duncan's hand to his shoulder.

'No matter. We made it, she didn't. Let's toss the place, there has to be something here we can take. Go see how she got behind you.' Duncan shrugs it off, his voice gruff. He doesn't want to dwell too much on the thought of Rhys almost getting shot. And having something to do will be better for Rhys, too.

A thorough search reveals a tunnel. The shack is only a decoy, covering one entrance. Another is a short way up the canyon, well hidden between boulders. Both are too narrow for Duncan but Rhys is more slender.

'Try and find out where this leads.' Duncan holds a crank lantern out to Rhys who takes it, eyes fixed on the dark whole in the ground.

'Duncan, I'm sorry. She just was so fast-' Rhys falls quiet when Duncan takes a firm hold of his upper arm.

'You're fine. Next time, you'll be quicker. Now go, see what you can find.' 

With a nod, Rhys climbs down the ladder, squeezing into the tunnel. He has to crawl on his stomach. Duncan can hear him moving around for a bit, then it's all quiet.

He has time to get restless and wonder if Rhys is stuck somewhere before he hears him call. Following the sound of Rhys' voice up the canyon, Duncan comes to a halt in front of a jumble of boulders. Light bleeds from between two of them.

'What the fuck?' Duncan looks up but beyond the boulders there's only the canyon wall.

'It's a side arm? She lived here. Her stuff is here.' Rhys walks around, moving what sounds like crates. There's no way they can shift the boulders and so Rhys crawls back and forth, bringing what he can fit through the tunnel.

In the meantime, Duncan goes to get the truck. On the way, he climbs up to look at the top of the canyon and now that he knows what to look for, he finds a small crack where the walls of the side arm come almost completely together. It's hidden by underbrush. No wonder they had overlooked that.

When he comes back, Rhys has started loading up the dune buggy. For a moment, Duncan baulks at that. But Rhys has had plenty of opportunity to run away from him, even steal their truck. So he nods at him. 'I'll take the truck.'

While Rhys finishes loading up, Duncan grabs a bucket from the truck and walks over to the body. It's hard work, cutting off the head, but finally, he has it. He drops it into the bucket and fills the bucket to the brim with sand. It should keep the head recognisable and not smelling too badly until they have delivered it.

Duncan turns to find Rhys watching him, standing at a distance. His face is carefully blank, pale in what little moonlight reaches the bottom of the canyon. Before Duncan can say anything, Rhys has stepped forward to take the bucket. 'I'll load it up.'

'Sure. I'll take care of the body. Won't take long. Go eat something, we'll head out when I'm done.' Duncan hefts his knife again and goes to work.

Dawn finds them headed for the nearest settlement, driving towards the first traces of molten gold spilling over the horizon, the sky overhead dark blue. If they arrive before noon, they can rest for the hottest part of the day and then go on towards Gas Town. Trade or sell some of the stuff, like the dune buggy. Duncan doesn't feel comfortable with Rhys driving it, he wants to have him in the truck and less of a target.

He's busy calculating what to spend their reward on when the buggy swerves and stops. Rhys stumbles out and drops to his knees, his back towards the road. With a curse, Duncan hits the brakes and runs over to Rhys. By the time he reaches him, Rhys has already thrown up everything he has eaten and is retching on spit and bile.

Duncan kneels down next to him, puts a hand on his back. 'What's wrong?' 

It dawns on him the moment he asks the question and he pats Rhys awkwardly. 'Listen, you don't have to eat any of that meat.' Rhys gives another heave and Duncan thinks he figured it out right. 'We can trade it for other things.' People pay well for roadkill jerky.

'I'm sorry. Please-- I'm sorry.' Rhys voice is hoarse and he sucks down air in big gasps. With a cough, he spits out a last clump of bile and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He's shuddering under Duncan's hand.

'Stop worrying about it.' Duncan doesn't know what to do except pat Rhys some more. They are much too exposed here for his taste and the cold night air makes him shiver. 'Come on, we need to move. Can you drive?'

Rhys takes the canteen Duncan offers him and drinks a few sips. He nods, gets up and walks towards the buggy, only a little wobbly. Duncan stays hunkered down for a second longer and wonders what kind of sheltered life Rhys must have had to be so upset by the thought of eating someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Info:  
> explicit violence  
> implied cannibalism  
> dubcon, mostly mentioned


	4. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Coming closer, he sees that Rhys isn't leaning against the strut, he's backed into it. The man talking to him is almost a full head shorter than Rhys but bulky, showing off well-muscled arms and a thick neck, a broad reddish scar running from the nape of his neck into what little hair he has left._  
>  _He is touching Rhys' arm and Rhys is afraid._  
>  A chance meeting and another step in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confluence: _The place where two rivers, streams, or other continuously flowing bodies of water meet and become one, especially where a tributary joins a river._

Duncan isn't used to the crowd in Gas Town any more. After their long time out in the Wastes, everything seems impossibly loud. The cavernous roof of the market makes him claustrophobic. Or maybe it's the thought of the walls and moats between him and the open road. 

Every time someone nudges him it makes him snarl, and eventually he starts pushing back. Soon, he has space and calms down. With Rhys trailing after him, they barter and trade for supplies. He mostly lets Rhys do the talking because Rhys always gets the best price. Duncan sneaks away while Rhys is busy haggling for food to make a couple of purchases of his own, but keeps him in sight. 

At least he tries to. When he turns after his last errand, Rhys is nowhere to be seen. There are just strangers, intent on their own business. Immediately, Duncan's heart starts to race. He _told_ Rhys to stay close!

A frantic search back the way he came, bulldozing his way through the crowd, yields nothing. Rhys is nowhere to be seen. 

Did he run? Use the crowd to hide and get away from Duncan? But why would he. The next thought makes Duncan growl deep in his throat: someone must have taken him. 

Duncan climbs up on a barrel to get a better view. He finally spots Rhys, leaning against a support strut and talking to someone. Jumping off the barrel, Duncan stalks over to them.

Coming closer, he sees that Rhys isn't leaning against the strut, he's backed into it. The man talking to him is almost a full head shorter than Rhys but bulky, showing off well-muscled arms and a thick neck, a broad reddish scar running from the nape of his neck into what little hair he has left. 

He is touching Rhys' arm and Rhys is _afraid_. 

For his size, Duncan moves quickly and quietly. He looms over the man, steps right into his personal space.

'He doesn't want to talk to you. Piss off.' Duncan pitches his voice into a deep, menacing growl. 

The relief on Rhys' face is obvious but Duncan keeps his attention on the stranger. With one hand on his sheathed knife, he hopes this won't end in a fight. But he's ready to end it quickly if it does.

'I was just talking.' The stranger backs away, hands raised. 'Can't a man talk to an old friend? But sure, I'll leave you two alone.' 

He looks Duncan up and down from a distance. 'If you want some advice, don't let him fool you. He needs a firm hand.'

Duncan steps forward, ready to punch him. Rhys stops him with a quick touch to his hand. 'Don't. Please.'

With a snide laugh, the stranger dives into the crowd and is gone. Duncan stares after him, fighting down the impulse to follow him and give him a good kicking. 

Taking a deep breath, he turns to Rhys. 'Who was that?'

'He used to own me. And he lost me in a bet. He didn't like that, still doesn't.' Rhys looks up at Duncan, bites his lip. 'Please, don't sell me back to him?'

Duncan is caught by Rhys' eyes, pupils so wide that the greenish brown is almost invisible. He moves closer, cups the back of Rhys' neck in one hand. 'I won't sell you to _anyone_.'

With a shaky breath, Rhys nods. He's quivering almost imperceptibly and Duncan gives him a little pat, runs his thumb over Rhys' neck. 

'Want to leave? We've got everything.' Duncan has forgotten his anger at Rhys not staying close over the relief of having found him. He gets another nod from Rhys and lets him lead the way out of the market through the labyrinth of passages to their truck.  
  


  
  
'What did the guy do to you? Back when you were with him, I mean.' Duncan puts his bowl aside and looks at Rhys, who hasn't said much since they arrived back at their camp. Meeting his former owner has clearly upset him and Duncan thinks talking about it might help.

Rhys stops chewing and meets Duncan's gaze for a second before concentrating on the last bites of food, pushing them around his bowl before setting it down. 

'He liked seeing me in pain. And he tried very hard to break me of everything he thought of as rebellious. Depending on his mood, that could be anything. Impossible to predict. He used his knife on me a lot.'

'Don't worry, I won't let him get his hands on you again.' The thought of someone hurting Rhys like that is more upsetting that Duncan cares to admit. He frowns: 'You don't have any scars-'

'I heal fast. And I'm with you now, I know you'll protect me.' With a bright smile, Rhys comes over to Duncan's side of the blanket, leans into him. 

Duncan puts an arm around him, pulls him close. 'I've never seen anyone with skin like yours. Why would he try and damage it?'

Rhys shivers in Duncan's embrace, shakes his head. He doesn't answer. Instead, he lets his hand drift over Duncan's stomach down between his legs. 'Do you have the lube?'

'Yeah.' Duncan spreads his legs and leans back against the car with a sigh. It _had_ been one of the reasons why they had gone to Gas Town. And he has been looking forward to trying it out later. As good as Rhys is with his mouth and hands, he wants to _fuck_ him. Rhys being so eager for it pleases him.

With Rhys wrestling with the buttons of his pants, Duncan fishes in his backpack for the petroleum jelly. He finds it the moment Rhys' hand palms his cock and almost drops it. Putting it down so it's in reach but not in the way, he gently takes hold of Rhys' wrist and pulls his hand away. Rhys looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes: 'Don't you want-'

'Yeah, I want.' Duncan scoops Rhys up in his arms and lays him down on the blanket, straddling him. 'But slowly.' He starts undressing Rhys, opening and unwinding the robe Rhys has wrapped himself in until it's spread out under them like a second blanket.

Rhys keeps still while he does it, eyes closed. He's pliant and obedient, following the little tugs and pulls Duncan gives him while taking off his shirt. When Duncan runs his palms over Rhys' naked skin, along his sides and down his chest, Rhys' breath hitches. He lets his fingers trail over Duncan's arms while Duncan nips and licks at his skin, working his way down from Rhys' throat to his stomach.

The belt buckle and fly of Rhys' pants give Duncan some problems because his hands are shaking. He can't remember the last time he wanted someone so much. Never, maybe. Usually, he gets what and who he wants quickly and is done with it, but not so with Rhys. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls. Rhys raises up his hips to help him and moans softly when the fabric slides over his cock. Duncan hurriedly undresses himself, throws the bundle of clothes into the truck and then takes a minute to admire the sight. 

Rhys is stretched out before him, skin impossibly white except on his hands and face. But even there it's much lighter than Duncan's own. Duncan cups Rhys' cheek in his palm and marvels at the difference. He traces Rhys' tattoos all over his body. The lines and swirls are raised the tiniest bit, animals and plants making their home on Rhys' skin. Duncan cannot name any of them. He decides to ask Rhys to teach him, later. For now, he comes to kneel between Rhys' legs and starts kissing his way up Rhys' stomach to his chest, sucking on his nipples. 

Rhys keens softly at the touch and gasps when Duncan's fingers close around his cock. Duncan leans forward and takes them both in hand, fucks into his fist, rubbing against Rhys' cock. But he's too impatient to wait and after a few strokes, he pushes Rhys' legs further apart, grabs the lube can.

When he touches Rhys' entrance, presses a finger against it, the muscles in Rhys' leg tense up under his other hand. He looks at Rhys and sees him watching, eyes wide, biting his lip, hands clutching at the blanket.

'Don't worry, I'll go slow.' Duncan smiles at him and holds his gaze while he pushes in with one finger. Rhys closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, relaxing the slightest bit. His ass readily accepts two of Duncan's fingers, muscles tightening around them. The noises he makes while Duncan fingers him are delicious, little whimpers and moans he obviously can't control.

With Duncan's cock pressed against him, Rhys tenses up again. Duncan pets his legs and stomach, talks softly to him. 'I'm not going to hurt you, but you need to relax. I'll make it good for you. And you want this, don't you?'

'-yes.' Rhys' voice is small and Duncan thinks that he wants to go and punch Rhys' former owners for making him so afraid of this. Instead, he very slowly enters Rhys, giving him as much time as he needs to get used to it. After a while, Rhys starts to breathe more evenly and lets his legs fall open. He moans loudly when Duncan drags his thumb over the tip of his cock and Duncan uses the distraction to push into him completely.

With his cock buried in Rhys, he keeps still for a bit, trying to calm down so he doesn't come right away. Rhys is sweating and the last light of the day shines on his skin, deepening the flush rising all over his chest and face. The sight makes Duncan's breath catch in his throat and he reaches out to caress Rhys' face, traces the lines of his jaw, his lips and cheekbones with his fingertips. He wants to say something, tell Rhys that he wants him, wants to never let him go again. But the words won't come. They're too big. The emotion behind them is too much and Duncan isn't used to it. He has never felt like this about anyone. 

In something resembling a panic, heart and thoughts racing, he focuses on what he knows and starts to slowly fuck Rhys. The familiar pleasure of it calms him. He knows how to do _this_. 

He starts out in small movements, with just his hips. Rhys' breath hitches when he nudges a certain spot inside of him and Duncan pulls back, does it again. It makes Rhys cry out, a wordless noise that encourages Duncan to move faster. His cock slides in and out of Rhys easily, and Duncan sits up so he can watch, see his cock disappear in Rhys. He lifts Rhys' balls out of the way so he can see better and fondles them, gives a gentle squeeze that forces another one of those cries from Rhys. It makes Duncan shudder with lust and he has gone slow long enough.

Duncan roughly pulls Rhys towards him, fingers digging into his hips, until Rhys is in his lap, back arched, head thrown back. Rhys' hands ghost over Duncan's arms and he presses his palm to Duncan's chest for a short moment. Taking him in hard thrusts, Duncan doesn't take note of the gesture. He is too intent on his pleasure. When Rhys drops his hand immediately, Duncan wishes he had paid attention. He likes being touched and Rhys so rarely does it. 

Fucking him is exactly like Duncan has wanted it to be, Rhys' ass tight and hot around his cock, muscles tightening with every thrust. Fisting his hands into the blanket, Rhys starts pushing against Duncan, falling into a rhythm with him.

'Please, fuck me harder! Come in my ass, please come--' Rhys begs, cries out, keeps begging and it unhinges Duncan. He lets Rhys fall from his lap and crouches over him so he can put his full weight into his movements. It drives the air from Rhys' lungs and his begging sinks into an urgent whisper that Duncan can barely hear over his own moans.

Duncan lets his cock almost slip out of Rhys before burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. He does it over and over again, relishing how Rhys' ass squeezes his cock when he pushes back in. Rhys stops him from doing it by hooking his feet behind Duncan's back and pulling him close. With a snarl, Duncan grabs him, hands pinning Rhys' shoulders down. It holds Rhys in place while Duncan fucks himself to his orgasm, the mounting wave of pleasure crashing over him and taking his breath away. He lets himself fall on top of Rhys, gives a few hard thrusts moving just his hips and then he is spent. There's no strength left in him and he nuzzles into the crook of Rhys' neck, bathing in the scent of their sweat and cum.

Under him, Rhys lies still, breathing hard, eyes closed, legs quivering. It must be uncomfortable for him, forced to keep his legs spread open like that, Duncan realises. Rhys gives a little whimper when Duncan pulls out and turns over on his side the moment Duncan takes his weight off of him. Duncan nestles into him, his chest to Rhys' back, and pets him gently while they both catch their breath.

With a start Duncan sits up. 'Oh! I wanted to give you something!' He hesitates. 'Wait, let's clean up first.' It's getting chilly and Rhys has started to shiver. Duncan gently cleans him up with a rag and passes him his clothes before he wipes himself down, gets dressed.

Some digging in his pack reveals a small, fat pouch. He offer it to Rhys on his palm. 'I hope it's the right stuff, but the trader said it's called yakka and it smelled like you when she burned a piece.'

Rhys slowly takes the pouch and opens it, lets some of the deep red pieces of resin fall on his palm. They look like nothing Duncan has ever seen before, seem to glow from within. When Duncan offers his lighter, Rhys takes it and holds one piece to the flame, puts it down in a little hollow in the sand. It keeps burning and the sweet smoke curls up to the sky, a light wind carrying the scent to Duncan. 

With a deep breath, Rhys leans over it, inhales the smoke through his nose. He looks up at Duncan, pupils wide and gaze unfocused, and smiles at him. 'Thank you.' When he reaches out to touch Duncan, slender fingers ghosting over Duncan's wrist and arm, warm happiness flows through Duncan. They settle down to watch the resin burn, a tiny spark in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you!
> 
> CONTENT INFO:  
> mentions of abuse  
> Dub con
> 
> Thank you for reading! Drop me a comment, say hello, I enjoy hearing from you all a lot


	5. Shear Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Stop struggling or I'll make you regret it.' Duncan twists the arm of the young man writhing under him, bones grinding together in his grip._  
>  Another bounty hunt and an unpleasant surprise for the orks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shear Zone: a zone of strong geological deformation

'Stop struggling or I'll make you regret it.' Duncan twists the arm of the young man writhing under him, bones grinding together in his grip.

His tone and the fact that he is _this_ close to dislocating the man's shoulder are enough. He keeps still while Duncan finishes cuffing and then hogtying him. Picking him up easily, Duncan throws him next to their truck and turns to Rhys.

'Let's stay here. We can make it back easily before noon tomorrow.' 

They picked up the contract in the Shipyard, a settlement in what Rhys has told Duncan used to be fishing boats. They looked like a giant dropped them from the sky after he was tired of playing, buried deep in the sand, split open along their sides.

The couple who issued the contract are looking for their runaway slave named Rubbertoy. Even in the drawing his owners have made of him, Rubbertoy has a defiant look on his face. But when the orks find him, he doesn't put up much of a fight. 

Duncan is in a good mood. Easy pickings, this job.

They make camp, next to the extensive labyrinth of rock fins, arches and pillars Rubbertoy had been hiding in. It is a good place to hide and Duncan has made note of it for themselves. But with Rhys' tracking skills, it had not been good enough.

Rubbertoy tries to talk to them, tries to negotiate, but a couple of punches from Duncan stop that. He stays silent after that, curled up on his side under the tarp Rhys puts up.

With Duncan's permission, Rhys gives him some water, but doesn't talk to him. Rhys never does. He keeps his distance from their prey as if he is scared of them. It suits Duncan just fine. Rhys can be-- soft-hearted. It's a flaw Duncan considers almost endearing but he won't allow Rhys to indulge in it too often.

They eat, Rhys only picking at his food, and then settle down to sleep. Duncan chains Rubbertoy to the truck with an extra cuff and leaves him hogtied. 

Sighing contentedly, Duncan hugs Rhys to himself. With the job done tomorrow, they can afford a few days of doing nothing. Maybe shack up at Bartertown for a little while. Rhys deserves a little luxury. With that thought, he falls asleep.  
  


  
  
Duncan wakes up, blinking blearily in the light of dawn. It's still cold and he stays huddled up with Rhys for a while, watching the diffuse golden light get brighter. Rhys is soft and warm next to him, and Duncan decides that they are _definitely_ not picking up a new contract right away. He wants the chance for some lazy mornings.

With a quiet grumble, he pushes himself up. Time to deliver Rubbertoy back to his owner. 

Rubbertoy is gone. Duncan is on his feet in a second, draws his gun. Looks around wildly, expecting to be attacked at any moment.

There's only the open cuffs and the chain, curling in the sand like cast off snake skin. 

And foot prints.

Duncan hunkers down to examine them. A lot of them are old, from last night, already half-filled with sand. But some are new, a few hours old at best. One set leads away, into the labyrinth of rock needles and outcrops they are camped in front of. One leads from and back to their bedroll. 

Right back to where Rhys is now slowly getting to his feet. Guilt is written all over his face, obvious in the way he isn't surprised at all.

Duncan explodes upwards. Lunges at Rhys, and _now_ Rhys is surprised. Rhys gives a loud, fearful cry that cuts off when Duncan slams him face forward into the side of the truck. 

With all his weight, Duncan leans on Rhys, has one arm twisted behind Rhys' back. 'Did you let him go? Don't fucking lie to me.'

Rhys nods, tries to get enough air into his lungs again to speak. Duncan is not interested.

He grabs Rhys by the hair and pulls him back. A kick to the back of the leg makes Rhys stumble and go down on his knees. Duncan uses one of the cuffs to chain him to the truck, pats him down for the keys. Slaps his face when Rhys reaches out for him.

'Don't touch me. I'll deal with you later.' Seeing Rhys cower only makes Duncan more angry.

He grabs his weapons and some water and sets out to follow the trail. Rhys is still on his knees, shaking all over and gasping for breath. Duncan walks faster to put some distance between them.

It's hard to see the tracks, especially without Rhys, who is a better tracker than Duncan will ever be. The sun climbs higher and it gets hot. Meanwhile, Duncan's temper cools. Helped by the exertion, and by the fact that walking and tracking takes up most of his energy, his rage settles. 

It makes room for numb shock and disappointment. Shame creeps in, hidden in their shadow, and bites down on the terrified look on Rhys' face when Duncan grabbed him, eyes wide and frightened. On the way Duncan's slap made his head whip around, split his lip. On the way he cringed when Duncan walked past him. And on how Duncan had almost kicked him for it.

Breathing hard, Duncan stops for a drink of water. A sudden thought makes him freeze: what if Rubbertoy doubled back to the truck? What if he killed Rhys for it?

 _Fuck._

Duncan turns and runs back. He cannot keep up the pace in the merciless heat, has to slow down to a jog. When he finally gets back, sliding down the last of the rock face on his ass, the truck is still there.

Rhys is still there, curled up under it. He doesn't move when Duncan comes close. Duncan has to haul him out from under the truck to uncuff him. Under his hands, Rhys is shaking, his breath coming in fast shallow bursts interrupted by choked gasps. He's limp and falls against the side of the truck when Duncan lets go of him. The split lip is swollen, blood dried on Rhys' face.

Duncan backs away after putting his canteen next to Rhys. He waits while Rhys drinks in little sips that help him calm down. A part of Duncan still wants to hit Rhys, to make him cry out in pain again and cower in fear. Duncan _likes_ that, normally. How he can get other people to respect him and his strength with just a few punches. But with Rhys, it only leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and shame roiling in his gut.

Most of him is just exhausted. The betrayal that burned so hot has turned to cold ashes.

'Tell me why you did this.' Duncan speaks quietly, struggles not to yell at Rhys.

Sitting against the truck, Rhys has his knees drawn up to his chest. He watches Duncan from underneath his eyelashes as he speaks. 'I tried so hard to convince myself that this is no different than other contracts. But it _is_. I can't take anyone back to their owner, back into slavery. I just can't.' 

Now he does look up at Duncan, holds his gaze for a second. 'You didn't, when you found me.'

Duncan stares at him. He never even considered that. And the thought of Rhys being kept as a slave again, at the mercy of his owner, makes him shudder. His gaze falls on the bruise on Rhys' wrist left behind by the handcuff and he blushes hotly.

'I-- Okay. I get it. But don't do shit like that ever again, never go behind my back like this again. Fuck, he could have killed you, us both.' Duncan wants to touch Rhys, but the way Rhys still flinches at every movement keeps him at a distance. 'Why didn't you say something?'

'I don't know.' Rhys sits with his head bowed, fiddling with the canteen in his lap. 'I'm sorry I didn't. It was stupid.'

'Damn right it was.' Duncan can't even muster the energy to growl. He's tired. Tired from running. Tired from being angry. Tired from this whole conversation. 

He gets up and looks out over the Wastes, at a loss as to where to go from here.

'Pack up. Fuck the contract. We can pick up something else. Let's go to Bartertown, we can afford a night there.' Duncan just wants to forget all of this.

When he starts gathering up their stuff, Rhys comes to help him. He still keeps his distance from Duncan as much as he can and it's a weight on Duncan's chest. But Duncan doesn't know what to do about it and he ignores it. Maybe the drive and some time to relax and have fun at Bartertown will help Rhys think of something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content info:  
> slavery  
> abuse/domestic abuse
> 
> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)


	6. Spindrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now, Rhys comes to sit beside him, cloak already discarded. His shirt shows off his arms and Duncan gently traces the outline of a tattoo, a weirdly geometric shape._   
>  _'Are all of these real? Or are they made up?' Duncan can never get enough of looking at Rhys' tattoos, so strange and elegant._
> 
> A soft moment and a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spindrift: fine sand or spray that is blown off by a strong wind.

Duncan flops down on the luxurious bed in the small room they have rented for the night. Bartertown holds many amenities, but to Duncan this is the best of them. It's not exactly quiet, just a space separated by tarp and cloth nestled away in a corner, but no one will bother them. And the pile of rags, blankets and old camel skins is actually soft.

He pats it for Rhys to join him. They have spent the day wandering around town, trading a little and catching up on the latest news. The two of them together draw attention, but it's respectful attention and some admiration for Rhys. Duncan basks in it. 

Bartertown is bustling with people and noise but it's much less oppressive than Gas Town. Part of it is that it's out in the open - tents, shipping containers, rickety shacks all jumbled together, but with wide paths between them. The smell of pigs and camels and lots of humans is overpowering at first after the clean smell of the desert. But they get used to it quickly. 

Gas Town's wealth is in the oil and guzzoline. Bartertown's wealth lies in the people who come here to trade and barter and spend. And the people who live here do their best to make everyone feel welcome. 

Rhys has said almost nothing for the whole long drive, but during the day he has come out of his shell again. Duncan enjoys watching him - Rhys is naturally good with people in a way Duncan isn't. And people like him. They tell him things and make a good price when he's doing the bartering. The thought that Rhys is _his_ partner makes Duncan proud.

Over a dinner of actual pig meat well worth the high price, Rhys has talked to him, smiled and laughed easily. With relief, Duncan thinks that his apology has been accepted and they can put the whole incident with Rubbertoy behind them. 

Now, Rhys comes to sit beside him, cloak already discarded. His shirt shows off his arms and Duncan gently traces the outline of a tattoo, a weirdly geometric shape.

'Are all of these real? Or are they made up?' Duncan can never get enough of looking at Rhys' tattoos, so strange and elegant.

'They all were real, at one time or the other. Some of them are gone. Others may still live, somewhere.' There's sadness in Rhys' voice but when Duncan looks up at him, a slight smile plays on his lips.

'What's this?' Duncan points to a squat round shape covered in spikes like a Buzzard vehicle.

'A sea urchin. They used to live underwater and eat other animals. Their mouth is underneath, and they had lots of little tentacles between the spikes.' If Rhys didn't sound so serious, Duncan would think he is being made fun of.

'And this?' He slowly pushes Rhys' shirt up so he can point at a confusing tangle of delicate lines with a round shape on top.

'A jellyfish. They're not fish, just called that. They swim by squeezing the bell on top together,' Rhys demonstrates by weaving the fingers of both hands together to imitate the bell, 'and underneath they have tentacles to catch prey. Fish, for example.'

Duncan looks closely but he can't see anything that looks like a mouth on the jellyfish. He loves the word and says it out loud just to hear it again. 'How big were these --jellyfish?'

Rhys holds two fingers up, barely apart. 'From about this to a bell as wide as you are tall.'

Duncan laughs out loud. 'What? No. Fuck _off_!' He tries to imagine an animal looking like that and he can't.

'I'm serious. The ocean is a strange place but I would love to see it one day. If it's still there.' Rhys' smile is gentle.

'What's this one?' Duncan points at another animal and Rhys tells him. They continue like this for a long time. Every single animal and plant is a wonder to Duncan, enchanting in their strangeness. There's a sense of loss, of grief for something he never knew and never has seen.

Duncan has to stop asking because he doesn't know what to do with that sorrow squeezing his heart. He decides on hugging Rhys and holding him close, face buried against his neck. The sweet smell of Rhys' hair comforts him.

They sit like this for a while and the tension of the last few days falls away from Duncan. Rhys slips both hands under Duncan's shirt, pulls it over his head. A hand to Duncan's chest, Rhys pushes him over on the bed, straddling him.

The end of Rhys' braid tickles Duncan's chest and side as Rhys leans forward to place a soft bite to Duncan's shoulder. Duncan likes it when the tips of Rhys' fangs and tusks dig into his skin like that, stopping just short of pain.

Raising his hips, Duncan grinds himself against Rhys, his cock rapidly growing hard. It draws a choked moan from Rhys and he moves so he can open Duncan's pants. It takes some gymnastics, but they manage to undress without ever really letting go of each other. Compared to fucking in the truck, this is _easy_.

When Rhys grabs Duncan's cock to spread lube on it, Duncan arches upward into his hand. He fucks into Rhys' fist, fingers curled around his shaft until he's all slicked up.

'Ride me.' Duncan's voice is hoarse with lust, even to his own ears. He holds Rhys' hips, hands gliding down to his thighs as Rhys sits up and raises himself on his knees. Setting the head of his cock against Rhys' entrance, Duncan keeps it upright for Rhys to sink down on.

It happens slowly, in excruciatingly small thrusts, until finally Duncan is sheathed in Rhys. Hands on Rhys' hips again, Duncan keeps him still so he can enjoy the tight warmth of Rhys' ass around his cock. They have never done it this way and Rhys' weight on top of him excites Duncan. He admires the way Rhys' muscles work under his skin as he starts to move.

At first, Duncan is content to let Rhys set the pace. Keeping a steady rhythm, Rhys fucks himself on Duncan's cock. Lets it almost slip out, takes only the tip back into himself so it gets massaged by his muscles as it breaches him again and again. Then he sits, takes Duncan inside in one movement, keeps him buried for a long moment before starting over again.

Duncan watches, fascinated. Rhys has his eyes closed in concentration and for once, his expression isn't guarded. He seems soft and vulnerable, bites his lip to keep his moans quiet. The tips of his fangs dig into his skin, barely visible.

Reaching up to take a hold of Rhys' braid, smooth in his palm, Duncan draws him forward. Obediently, Rhys follows until he is crouching low over Duncan on his knees and elbows with Duncan's arms around him. He nuzzles at Duncan's neck and gives a low cry when Duncan thrusts upward into him.

Duncan tries to draw it out but Rhys is shaking in his arms with every thrust, moaning loudly and Duncan wants to see him come apart. With every cry from Rhys, every clench of his ass around Duncan's cock, Duncan's lust burns hotter in his groin. He fucks into Rhys harder and faster, keeps him in place so he can hit the right spot again and again. The one that makes Rhys jerk against him, makes him rolls his hips reflexively.

When Rhys tries to move away, to raise himself on his hands, Duncan quickly takes hold of Rhys' wrists and pulls his arms on his back. Not in a painful position or even in a very firm grip, but he wants Rhys to stay exactly where he is. He speeds up even more, cock pistoning in and out of Rhys in bursts.

Helpless in Duncan's hold, Rhys lies on top of him, his face buried against Duncan's neck. He gasps and whimpers and spreads his legs wider, takes Duncan even deeper. Duncan tightens his grip and pushes Rhys down on his cock, rutting into him wildly.

He arches up under Rhys with a shout as he spills himself. A few last thrusts, balls drawing tight against his body, cock twitching inside of Rhys.

It takes a while until he lets go. Duncan is shuddering hard, clutches Rhys to himself and moves his hips slowly, cock gliding in and out of Rhys. It's painfully pleasant and Rhys' ass clenches hard around him every time he pushes in. Eventually, he stops, cock growing soft. 

Rhys rolls off of him, on his stomach next to Duncan. 

'Did you come?' Duncan realises that while Rhys often initiates sex and lets Duncan have him whenever he feels like it, he rarely has seen Rhys come.

'I'll take care of myself later. You don't need to worry about that.' Rhys curls up on his side, looking at their oil lantern sitting on the crate next to the bed.

Duncan flips Rhys on his back and spreads his legs wide to reveal Rhys' cock, still hard. 'I do want to.' He runs his palms over the inside of Rhys' thighs, cups his balls. Rhys' ass is spread open and slick enough with lube and cum that Duncan can easily push two fingers in. 

Rhys moans and shudders when Duncan finds the sensitive spot inside him. He reaches for his cock and strokes himself in time with Duncan's slow thrusts. His other hand grips his hair, splayed out on the blanket, fisting into it. The flickering light of the lantern throws his muscles into relief, makes the tattoos move and swirl on his skin. Duncan drinks it all in.

It doesn't take long for Rhys to speed up, lose control of his movements. He ruts into his hand, fucks himself on Duncan's fingers, until he arches his back with a scream and spills cum all over himself. Duncan keeps his fingers inside him, relishing how Rhys' ass tightens around them. He only pulls out when Rhys' moans turn into whimpers.

'You don't need to hide from me. I like seeing you come.' Duncan lets Rhys turn on his side again, softly pets his ass.

'Thank you.' Rhys gives him a wan smile before he gets up and finds a piece of cloth to clean himself and Duncan up.

A short while later, Duncan is close to dozing off with Rhys curled next to him. When Rhys turns in his arms, Duncan blinks sleepily. It's dark in their tent but enough light filters through the cracks and gaps for Duncan to see how scared Rhys looks, the whites showing in his eyes.

'What's wrong?' Duncan gets up on one elbow, reaching for his gun.

'Nothing.' Rhys puts his hand to Duncan's chest. 'I just want to talk to you about something.'

Duncan sits up, confused. 'Okay?'

Rhys kneels on the bed, hugs himself. There are yellowing bruises on his wrist where Duncan had grabbed them and his lip is still a little scabbed where Duncan split it. Rhys mentions neither of these things. He doesn't seem to care.

'Do we really need to pick up more bounty hunting contracts? Can't we try to scavenge?' Rhys speaks without looking at Duncan, head down and playing with the tip of his braid.

'We could. But why would we?' Bounty hunting brings good earnings and Duncan is hesitant to say the least to give it up. He likes being able to have a little luxury, like this tent for the night. 'I promise I won't pick up more contracts on escaped slaves.'

Rhys gives him a smile, gone from his face as quickly as a lizard scurrying for cover. 'I-- Thank you, for understanding this. Especially after what I did.' He touches Duncan's hand but pulls back into himself. 'It's not all, though. Do you remember Twitch?'

'Sure. Almost got us killed. Not about to forget that.' Duncan has no idea where this is going and he is getting impatient. 'What about her.'

'I was in her home, I saw how she lived. And she was just this person, trying to survive. She had drawn all over the walls of her hideout.' Rhys finds his pack next to the bed and takes out a roll of cloth. 'Look, I copied some of them, from what I could remember.'

The drawings are done in some kind of black ink or maybe soot mixed with oil, Duncan cannot tell. He has no idea when Rhys has done all of this.

Unrolling the bundle, the simple drawings of stick figures seems to come to life, lines dancing and dashing on the cloth. The story of someone learning to survive on their own in the Wasteland unfolds for Duncan. 

A child, with two big people watching over it.

The child, alone. Only her shadow follow her through the Wastes.

She finds shelter in a canyon. Learns to hunt, to scavenge. She holds up a lizard in triumph. 

She finds a companion. They share the hideout, their food. They seem close, holding hands.

He gets run down by some vehicles, spikes all over them. They take his body away, impaled on the spikes. She watches from a hiding place.

She goes on alone.

It's a story like many others. Nothing special. Yet Duncan can't help but feel for her, seeing it all laid out like this before him. It's not so unlike his own life.

He looks up at Rhys, frowning. His voice is gruffer than he wants it to be. 'What's your point?'

'That she was just trying to survive. Yes, I know she stole and even killed. But I don't want this. I don't want to get paid to hunt people.' Rhys' voice is so quiet that Duncan has to lean forward to understand him. 'And I don't want you to do it either.'

'If we don't do it, someone else will.' Duncan shrugs. 'She fucked up, she died for it. And the people she stole from and whose friends or family she killed are damn glad we did this, you know that. I don't see a problem.'

Rhys takes a breath. He is shaking all over, so hard that his teeth chatter while he speaks. 'I don't have a problem with killing people to defend ourselves. But going out to find someone to kill for money, that's different. I tried telling myself that they are bad people. But I don't know any more. They're just people. Trying to survive in this place.'

'Look at the contracts, they _are_ bad people. We're doing the Wasteland a favour.' Duncan hasn't ever given this much thought and is casting about for things to say.

'Are we, really? I don't know.' Rhys hugs himself again but can't hide his shivers from Duncan. 'I can't tell, looking back on what we did. I don't think it's so easy. Nothing is, in this awful place. It turns us all into beasts. Worse, even. And I-- I don't want to make it so easy for me to be turned. I want to hold on to what I can of my humanity. And of yours. I think it's worth it.'

Duncan almost laughs out loud in disbelief at how naive this is. But Rhys seems to think that Duncan is a good man. That's not something Duncan has ever considered. He knows he's not as bad as many others, but finding out that Rhys sees him as someone much better - it takes his breath away. The thought is too much to deal with right now. Why does every long talk with Rhys end up being so exhausting.

He brusquely gathers up the cloth, rolling it up. 'Okay. Fine. We'll give it a try. Go scavenging. But if it turns out we can't make it, we'll go back to bounty hunting. That's the last time we talk about this. I don't want you to have second thoughts and tell me you won't do it. Or pull shit like with Rubbertoy on me.'

'I won't.' This time, the smile on Rhys' face lasts longer. 'Thank you. It means a lot to me.' 

Duncan only grumbles in reply. He doesn't know what to say. When Rhys nestles into him as they lay down again, Duncan hugs him and shushes him when he tries to speak. 'Sleep, now. It's fine.' 

Sleep escapes Duncan for a long time while he tries to figure out if Rhys is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT INFO:
> 
> dubcon smut


	7. Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Duncan is about to suggest that he take a closer look, they could afford some of these wordburgers, when a scrawny guy decked out in impossibly colourful and glittery clothes pops up next to them. It's so sudden Duncan almost punches him and Rhys jumps._  
>  _'Let me make you an offer - best you will get all day long! No! All week! You won't regret it!'_  
>  Regrets are had all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intrusion: magma penetrating existing rock

Duncan frowns at the signs placed on the table Rhys had dragged him to. He can read the numbers well enough, but he has no idea what is on offer. It's just meaningless squiggles.

Rhys steps close to him so he doesn't have to raise his voice over the din of the Bartertown market. 'She sells books.'

Seeing Duncan's even more confused look, he reaches for another word. 'Wordburger? You know, like they used to have, with stories inside? And stuff that really happened?'

'Oh. That.' Duncan nods. He has never seen one and has imagined them different from the boring looking piles of paper on the vendor's table. He looks at the prices again and laughs. 'Who spends that much money on a pile of paper with stories?'

'You'd be surprised.' Rhys' smile is wistful and he casts a longing glance at the table. 

Duncan is about to suggest that he take a closer look, they could afford some of these, when a scrawny guy decked out in impossibly colourful and glittery clothes pops up next to them. It's so sudden Duncan almost punches him and Rhys jumps.

'Let me make you an offer - best you will get all day long! No! All week! You won't regret it!' The man's voice is dropped into a conspiratorial stage whisper and he stands much too close. Shiny pieces of weird metal glued to the fabric of his clothes reflect the light of the torches and lanterns. At least he keeps his hands to himself and stoops slightly to appear non-threatening.

'What do you want?' Duncan snarls, not happy about the interruption. 

'Mad Ants' the name and I'm the owner of the Garden of Pleasure. _You_ on the other hand are clearly the owner of a rarity' — a gesture towards Rhys — 'and we should combine these two things. For the enjoyment of others and our profit.'

'What.' Duncan casts a glance towards Rhys who is no help. He stands with his head bowed, barely looking at Duncan. Shoulders hunched, he looks almost as frightened as when his former owner had him cornered.

Mad Ants isn't bothered by their reactions. 'Lend him to me. For - let's say a month? And then we can negotiate again. See how much he earns. But I promise you, people will love him.' He reaches out and only just stops himself from touching Rhys' hair, falling over his shoulder in a thick braid.

'He is _so_ exotic! The hair, the tusks - how far down to these tattoos go? Tall and slender - he's gorgeous. I could ask twice the normal rate and people would still queue to have him!' Mad Ants almost hops on the spot, smiling hugely, all caution shoved aside by excitement and greed.

Duncan shouldn't be surprised. After all, he considered selling Rhys himself and had banked on his good looks and skill in bed to get a good price.

His conscience does not like being reminded of that and a wave of disgusted rage floods through Duncan. 

'Piss off. Not interested.' Grabbing Rhys by the arm, Duncan starts walking away. Rhys stumbles, pulled along, his head still bowed.

With no regard for anyone else, Duncan charges ahead like a runaway war rig. Very few people get in his way and those that do are shouldered aside.

In a stunning display of suicidal greed for a business opportunity, Mad Ants keeps pace with them. 'Come on, you don't know what you are missing. It doesn't have to be a month. Let's say a week? Or a day. One day, that's all - what's the harm? Give it a try and then we'll speak again. You'll see how much he can earn.'

When Duncan still doesn't stop, Mad Ants gets in front of him, walking backwards at a rapid pace. 'No one will harm him, I guarantee it. No need to worry.' He dropped his voice again. 'If you want to, you can keep an eye on things, watch him. No charge. Tell you what, you get free pick of anyone else we have for the night.'

Duncan looks down on Mad Ants' hand on his arm. 

One punch later, Mad Ants is off his feet and on his back on the table of a stall selling clothes. The merchandise scatters and flies everywhere when Duncan pounces on him, breaking the table under them.

Too angry to even draw a weapon, Duncan simply uses his fists, his strength and speed. Mad Ants spits teeth, his nose smashed, hot blood spattering Duncan's face with every punch. Fingers scrabble at Duncan's face, aiming for his eyes, trying to gouge. With a snarl, Duncan takes hold of the hand and with a twist and a snap, breaks a couple of fingers.

The loud pop of bone and Mad Ants' anguished scream only spurs Duncan on. He slams the arm on a table leg among the wreckage. Once, twice, and he's rewarded with another loud snap and a scream.

Hands grab him and he twists in their grip, aims a vicious kick at Mad Ants' head. It connects and the screaming stops with a choked whimper.

Duncan is stopped by an enormous knife to his throat. Breathing heavily, he realises the Bartertown guard have arrived to break up the fight. They do not look happy.

Two of them have Rhys who stands between them, frozen in place. He looks at Duncan, eyes wide and dark, all colour drained from his face. Seeing him like this extinguishes Duncan's rage immediately and he slowly raises his hands.

'No need for this. We're leaving. He wouldn't leave us alone.' Saying it, Duncan is very aware it won't be enough.

'You're not leaving. You're coming with us, and so is your pet.' The leader of the guards, the only one not wearing a spiky mohawk, nods at his troops. A kick to the leg signals to Duncan he should kneel. Every cell in his body screams at him to fight but he doesn't. He gets on his knees, allows them to shackle him and haul him away.

He can't risk losing Rhys. Or getting Rhys hurt. This is already bad enough and it's his fault alone. Duncan silently curses his temper, not for the first time.

They are brought to a jumble of old shipping containers. The Thunderdome rises behind them and Duncan's heart drops. What if they make him fight Rhys?

He gets shoved into one of the containers, turned into a cage by a row of bars separating it down the middle. Old as it is, it's more than sturdy enough to withstand an angry ork as Duncan soon finds out.

Rhys has been taken away and Duncan only caught a last glance of him with the guards, walking ahead of them, face and posture expressionless. From that alone, Duncan can tell Rhys is scared to death.

He gives the container wall another kick that echoes in the small space. Like a caged animal, he paces. His knuckles hurt and drip blood, but he ignores them. He likes the pain. It keeps him alert and focused. Focused on something other than what is happening to Rhys right now. Or will happen to both of them.

He has lost track of time when the container doors open. It fills with a couple of guards who stand respectfully to one side to make room for a tall woman, white hair a striking contrast to her dark skin. _Everything_ about her is striking and even though Duncan has never seen her up close, he doesn't need an introduction. Everyone who comes to Bartertown knows who Aunty Entity is.

Duncan walks up to the bars and stands his ground in the face of the haughty stare she gives him. 

'Take the cuffs off of him. He won't be stupid.' _Will you._ says the look and Duncan gives a curt nod.

He turns at a wave from a guard and the cuffs are unlocked. Keeping his arms at his side, Duncan faces Aunty again but waits for her to speak. No sense in denying what he did, and he won't apologise for it. He's no good at false apologies and he doubts she wants to hear one.

'You disturbed the peace. The people living here are under my protection. If you mess with them, you pay the price. You will fight at the Thunderdome tonight. You didn't kill anyone, so if you survive, you can leave and you can even come back.'

 _Fuck._ Duncan has fought at Gas Town's Thunderdome for money a couple of times and he has seen matches here. Depending on who he fights, this might be a death sentence anyway.

'What about Rhys?' He can't help but ask.

'Your pet? He goes to Mad Ants, as payment for damages.' Aunty watches Duncan very carefully. This is a trap.

Duncan springs it.

'What if I do more than one fight? People like seeing that.' He knows they do. It's rare anyone is in any shape for more than one fight in a row.

Aunty considers his proposition, looking Duncan up and down slowly. 

Duncan forces himself to stand still and not look away. He hates being treated like a thing to be sold and he hates treating himself that way.

'Very well. You will get three fights. Survive, please the crowd and you get your pet back. You can leave and you are allowed to return here if you want.' Aunty nods and turns away, dismissing Duncan.

He's sure she wanted this all along. Matches like that are rare and always volunteered for. Not even Aunty can force anyone to fight more than one match. It will be a huge spectacle, people will go nuts over it. And they will love Aunty for having arranged it.

Duncan has always wondered who would be desperate enough to volunteer for this. 

Now he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaread by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you!


	8. Rogue Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Duncan lands badly, has missed the chance to hold on to one of the bars higher up and grab a weapon. Stumbling, he dives under a swipe from a nasty looking machete. The blade whispers right over his head._  
>  Duncan fights for his life and that of Rhys in the Thunderdome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rogue wave: an unusually large, unexpected and suddenly appearing surface wave that can be extremely dangerous

Duncan pulls his knife out of the woman caught between him and the bars of the Thunderdome, leaving a deep gash in her thigh. Blood sprays him and anyone in the audience standing close enough. She holds onto a strut and stares at him as he backs away, eyes wide with shock, her short brown hair already caked with blood from a head wound. It has run into her eyes and blinded her to Duncan's attack.

Wary of a last burst of strength, Duncan is ready to dodge or jump. He pulls the cords on his harness taut. The woman takes two stumbling steps towards him and falls, her spear rolling from her hand. Blood soaks into the sand, turns it a dark glistening mass in the incredibly bright spotlight that follows the fight.

Duncan has neither the energy nor the urge to acknowledge the cheers. The crowd loves him. New meat for the Thunderdome.

The crowd standing around the Dome and up on the structure, holding on to the struts, is eager for more blood and not shy about it. Tethered to the top of the Dome by a harness with elastic ropes, the fighters are expected to jump for weapons attached to the struts high up. The crowd isn't shy about trying to stab their favourite's opponent either.

His first fight had been little more than an execution. He hadn't even bothered to jump for a weapon. Cracking the starved man's skull against one of the Dome's struts had been enough. He had wiped blood and brains from his hands, thoughts already on the next fight. 

The second fight had been over the minute Duncan had managed to cut his opponent's harness. She had picked the right weapon to keep him at bay, but without her harness to jump, he had mercilessly charged her.

Still, he is bleeding freely from several wounds, gashes on his arm and along his flank. Hastily, he tears a sleeve from her shirt and wraps it around his arm before her body gets dragged out of the dome. Then, he uses the short pause to look for Rhys. 

Hands cuffed in front of him, Rhys sits with Aunty and her court, watches Duncan with no expression on his face. But Duncan knows him well enough by now to see the fear anyway. 

Mad Ants is in the crowd, bandaged up and cheering hoarsely for Duncan to die. 

The crowd goes mad when the next, and last, fight is announced. The noise is a solid wall crashing into Duncan, and he muzzily shakes his head.

Graveltooth is obviously a favourite and people have been calling his name all evening long. By now, Duncan has his own fans and they are cheering almost as loudly.

Choosing his spot, Duncan waits, clutching his knife. While the crew are kitting Graveltooth out, securing his harness, Duncan has time to watch him.

Under his armour and behind a cloth mask covering mouth and nose, there's not much visible of the man's features except his eyes, and those watch Duncan right back. Graveltooth is enormous, even bigger than Duncan. First order of business will be a new weapon with more reach. Then fuck up his harness. 

One last look up at Rhys, who keeps his eyes on Graveltooth, and Duncan almost misses the start of the fight. He dodges the charge at the last second with a jump. Graveltooth is _fast_ , much faster than his sheer mass suggests. 

Duncan lands badly, has missed the chance to hold on to one of the bars higher up and grab a weapon. Stumbling, he dives under a swipe from a nasty looking machete. The blade whispers right over his head. He runs to get distance, pulls on his harness and jumps again.

This time, he can grab a saw-bladed spear. His hand slips on the bar and he falls, turns a graceless landing into a blind run, away from the mountain of armour and muscles that charges him.

He's not fast enough. Graveltooth runs into him. The impact knocks the breath out of Duncan and he twists by instinct. The machete only grazes his leg instead of burying itself in his gut.

A hand grabs for him and Duncan bites down, tears away flesh with his tusks. With a roar, Graveltooth jerks back. Duncan flees, desperate for some distance.

Salt and metal on his tongue. Duncan swallows down the blood. He spits a chunk of skin in Graveltooth's direction in a gesture of defiance.

They circle each other warily. Duncan is panting. The first fights may have been short, but they had still been brutal and intense. He relies on pure adrenaline to get through this, lets it take over his reflexes.

'Mask! Mask! Mask!' Duncan becomes aware the crowd is chanting.

Graveltooth stands for a second, proud and tall, before he tears away the cloth covering his face. The sight of gigantic tusks and fangs, splintered and broken, and of frayed pointed ears surprises Duncan so much he almost gets skewered when Graveltooth lunges at him.

Pulling on the cords of his harness, Duncan jumps at the last moment and comes crashing back down into the sand, sharp fingernails digging into the flesh of his calf.

With a jab of his spear, Duncan keeps Graveltooth at bay, even lands a cut through his armour and into his chest. When Graveltooth rears back, Duncan kicks himself free, rolls and runs. 

A whoop from the crowd rises into a bloodthirsty, cheerful roar. Graveltooth crashes into Duncan from above. The force of the jump throws Duncan halfway across the Dome. Dazed, on all fours, he scrabbles for his spear, gone from his hand. A kick connects with his head, throws him on his back.

Graveltooth lands hard on top of him, a knee on Duncan's chest. Duncan's lungs burn. He can't get any air. With a triumphant gesture and his roar echoed by the crowd, Graveltooth brings down the machete in a powerful sweep meant to take Duncan's head off.

By reflex, Duncan brings up his arm, much too late. The air seems much thicker than usual, he has to fight to move his arm through it. There's a crackling in his ears and the biting scent of ozone fills his nostrils.

The tip of the machete catches on his arm. It bites right down to the bone and the blade detaches from the handle. Graveltooth overbalances, catching himself on one hand. He growls a curse, eyes wide with surprise. The crowd roars even louder in feverish excitement and in anger at the loss of a spectacular kill.

With a scream, Duncan grabs the blade and and pushes it up, right under Graveltooth's chin. Shockingly hot blood spatters down on his face, blinds him. He keeps pushing. Cuts his fingers to ribbons on the blade. Grabs the back of Graveltooth's neck with one hand. Pulls down hard, right on the machete. Twists his head away from the fingers gouging at his eyes.

He only stops when Graveltooth's body topples down on him, dead weight.

There's a moment of silence.

Then the crowd explodes, the noise so loud it pushes on Duncan's eardrums and deafens him. His own breathing is louder still in his ears. 

Bottlecaps and smooth pieces of coloured glass rain down on him, the glass glinting like liquid in the sand. An offering for the winner. The crowd chants his name.

Gulping down air, Duncan wipes at his eyes with one arm. He wiggles out from under Graveltooth's body. Even in death it's almost too much for him, seems reluctant to let him go. Duncan stays on his hands and knees, gasping for air. The pain cripples him. His hands won't work. He sits and holds them in his lap. There's so much blood he can't see the damage. More blood wells up from the cuts constantly and drips down from his head. 

With a hoarse shout, Duncan forces himself to stand. Using willpower instead of strength, he stays up and raises both arms above his head, catching Aunty Entity's gaze.

She stares at him for an eternity and then nods, gestures to her guards.

The Thunderdome gets unlocked and Duncan walks out, stumbling only a couple of times. The crowd surrounds him, pushes him along. Hands reach for him, clap his back, someone hands him water. Others swipe their fingers through the blood all over him, gather it up. People walk away with stripes of Duncan's and Graveltooth's blood on their face, proudly wearing it like a mark of honour.

Duncan just keeps walking. He can't think of anything else to do. The sight of Aunty Entity in front of him stops him short. She wears immaculate, blinding white and a smile that only reaches her lips. 

'Well done. Now take your pet and run before they decide to keep you.' Her voice is cold. He has done what she wanted and his own and Rhys' life is his reward. There will be no further gratitude.

Rhys is shoved at Duncan and wraps an arm around him. 'Come. We need to go. Right now.'

Duncan couldn't agree more. He needs to lean on Rhys and the walk back to their truck is endless. Blackness threatens to engulf him, filled with eager faces floating at him. People jostle them in the narrow, dimly lit paths between the tents and shacks. They want to touch Duncan, look at him. Get a piece of him as long as they can. 

The pain bites and tears at Duncan and finally there's only a dark haze left, and a loud buzzing noise.

Duncan jerks awake and it's still dark. But it's the starlit, quiet darkness of the Wastes. Rhys is busy bandaging Duncan's hands and flinches back so hard when Duncan grabs him that he hits his head on the roof of the truck.

'Where are we?' Duncan struggles to sit up and falls back with a groan.

'A couple of clicks from Bartertown. When I've patched you up, we'll drive more but I need to finish. Let me help you, please.' Rhys keeps his voice low, both hands flat on Duncan's chest.

When Duncan nods and lies down, Rhys continues. He works quickly and gently. Duncan cries out only once, when Rhys picks a metal splinter the size of his little finger out of Duncan's arm. 

Duncan accepts a drink of water before he curls up in the back of the truck. He's exhausted and close to passing out again. Rhys covers him with a blanket, cups Duncan's face in one hand. The touch sends a strong shiver over Duncan, almost like an electric shock. For a moment, ozone stings in his nostrils. Afterwards, the pain floats away, followed by most of Duncan's consciousness. He barely registers Rhys getting behind the wheel and driving away from Bartertown.

The hum of the engine eating up the road sings Duncan to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaread by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/profile) \- thank you!
> 
> Content notes:  
> graphic violence  
> blood and gore


	9. Heat Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Do you know more than 'out East'? Think we can find it?' Duncan limps to the truck's cabin. His heart beats faster at the thought of finally having a chance of finding other orks. And of doing this together with Rhys, dangerous or not._  
>  A huge decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heat lightning: faint flashes of lightning on the horizon or other clouds from distant thunderstorms that do not appear to have accompanying sounds of thunder

They find temporary shelter in a tiny settlement, built around what might have once been a cattle station. The building still offers good shelter from sun, heat, and storms, even almost completely buried. It is a daily fight to keep the sand out, but worth it for the people here.

Duncan's wounds are healing but he is still hurting all over, and walks with a limp. The cuts in his palms and fingers are much less serious than he thought, but there hadn't been a lot to see under all the blood and he hadn't been in any condition for a proper look.

'It's a fucking bad joke. The first other ork we meet and I've got to kill him.' Duncan leans against the corroded wall of what used to be a water tank, for the little shade it gives.

They are paying for their stay by providing spare parts for and repairing the group's only four-wheel vehicle, a much-patched and jury-rigged truck. Or rather, Duncan explains to Rhys what to do and Rhys does it. Duncan can't really be up and about very long before he gets dizzy.

Rhys is a fast learner and Duncan enjoys teaching him. He also enjoys just being here and having the time for leisurely talk. They have stayed away from the topic of the Thunderdome fight and Bartertown by silent agreement, until now.

Rhys leans on the engine under the open hood and looks at Duncan thoughtfully. 'I'm glad you did. But yes. I would have liked to talk some more with him.'

'Some more? You talked to him?' Duncan is surprised. Rhys hasn't mentioned this.

'He came to take a look at me, see if I was worth the fight. At least that's what he said, but I don't think he could afford to ignore your challenge. Not a third-fight challenge. Maybe he was just curious.' Rhys wipes his hands on a rag, black oil on his forearms eclipsing some of the tattoos.

'He said he'd been banished from a settlement. A long way out east, much further than we've ever been. And he said there are orks, many of them. Even a couple of trolls. You know, the really big ones, with horns? They were rare even Before and they are almost gone now. I've read about them.' Rhys pauses, stares off into the distance. 'I don't know if I believe it.' His tone says that he _wants_ to.

'About the trolls? Or the settlement?' Duncan comes to join him, grimacing at the pain when he gets up.

'Both. But I think that Graveltooth had no reason to lie to me. Why should he? It wasn't like he had to impress me or do me any favours. I think he was glad to see another ork? He seemed-- I think he was lonely.' Screwing down the last cap on the engine, Rhys give a nod. 'Okay, all done.'

'Do you know more than 'out East'? Think we can find it?' Duncan limps to the truck's cabin. His heart beats faster at the thought of finally having a chance of finding other orks. And of doing this together with Rhys, dangerous or not. 

Rhys takes a minute to think about the question. 'A little. A few landmarks. We would need to ask around more, find people who have been to that region. To verify what he told me. And we would need a lot of supplies. It will be dangerous.' 

The truck starts on the first try as Duncan turns the key, and Rhys gives Duncan a bright smile. 'But yes. I want to try. I doubt it will be much better or worse than anywhere else, but I want to see if this place exists. Very much.'

Duncan comes over to gently trap Rhys against the truck for a kiss. 'Then we will go. I-'

_I love you._

He can't bring himself to say it. It frightens him to death even to think it. 'Stay here for the night and start out tomorrow, getting supplies and everything together?'

If Rhys knows Duncan wanted to say something very different, he doesn't show it. 'That sounds good to me.' 

It is their last night at the settlement. They have had dinner and Rhys is animated and excited, makes plans where to get the best and cheapest supplies and who to ask for directions or even a map.

After they are finished eating, they go bed, or rather to the corner of the rusty old container they have rented where all their blankets are piled. Duncan wants to use the opportunity to not have one ear open for danger constantly. He slips his hand under Rhys' shirt, kissing his neck softly.

Rhys is soft and pliable against him, answers the kisses and touches with quiet moans, with touches and kisses of his own. Soon, their movements become urgent, bodies pressing against each other.

'Do you want to use these?' Rhys holds up the handcuffs. He has unclipped them from Duncan's belt where they usually are even though they don't bounty hunt any more. 

Duncan stares at him in wordless surprise. His cock is immediately aboard with the idea. 'Um, yeah, I guess, if you think--' _Get a grip man!_ He clears his throat. 'Yes.' 

Handing them over, Rhys smiles, pulls his shirt over his head and comes closer to cup Duncan's face in his hand. 'You like holding my wrists. This way, you have your hands free.' 

It isn't that Duncan hasn't had that idea himself. But he has hesitated to suggest it. Having Rhys come up with the idea on his own makes it even more exciting. 

Duncan swallows. He puts the cuffs aside for now, on the rickety crate next to their bedrolls. 

Pushing Rhys over on his back, Duncan straddles him and bends down to bite at his neck. He sucks at the skin until he has left a bruise, takes a moment to admire it, dark red on Rhys' pale skin. 

Rhys has his hands under Duncan's shirt, tracing over the scars he finds there, over Duncan's ribs and up to his spine. When he runs a finger over it, Duncan shakes himself with a gasp. With a quiet growl, he grabs Rhys' neck again with his tusks, leaves another mark on the other side of it. His hands pull up Rhys' shirt. 

He moves down, takes his time. Rhys squirms and moans under him as Duncan creates a trail of marks down Rhys' chest and stomach, paying special attention to his nipples until they are hard and sensitive. 

Sitting up, Duncan pulls his own shirt over his head and flings it aside to land in a heap on their already discarded clothes. After a short and futile fight with his pants, he stands to get them off. He sees Rhys watching him and flops down on the bedroll with a grin. 

'Now you. Let me watch.' Duncan is usually the one to undress Rhys, so this is new as well and just as exciting as the cuffs.

Slowly, Rhys stands up and starts by unlacing his pants, pulls them down and kicks them off. Without looking up, he throws them in the direction of the heap. He looks gorgeous in the flickering light of their oil lantern, white skin shining and pitch black hair falling over his shoulders. Not meeting Duncan's gaze, he moves to kneel down again on the blankets but Duncan stops him. 

'Turn around.' When Rhys follows the order, Duncan comes to stand behind him, runs his hands over Rhys' ass and to the front, taking Rhys' cock in one hand and cupping his balls in the other. He presses up against Rhys' back, rubs his own hard cock against Rhys' ass. 

'I'm going to cuff your hands on your back and then I'll fuck your ass until you come.' Saying it out loud makes Duncan shudder with lust. With his face hidden between Rhys' shoulder blades, Duncan breathes in the sweet scent of Rhys' skin and hair. Rhys only gives a quiet moan, his cock throbbing in Duncan's hand.

Hands on Rhys' wrists, Duncan makes him kneel and uses the handcuffs on him. He takes care they are not too tight, but tight enough that Rhys is trapped for real. When Rhys wants to lie down, Duncan stops him. 

'No. Stay on your knees.' He rolls up a blanket so Rhys can put his shoulders on it and then sits back and admires the view. The pose brings up Rhys' ass, makes his back curve seductively. Duncan places both palms on the inside of Rhys' thighs from behind. 'Spread them wider.'

Rhys obeys until his legs are wide open and his back is arched even harder. He's breathing heavily through his nose and Duncan is already panting softly, too. 

Fondling Rhys' balls, Duncan runs a lube-covered finger over Rhys' entrance. It pulses and takes the finger readily. Sitting on his haunches, Duncan spends time fingering Rhys slowly, watching his finger disappear into him, Rhys' hole clenching hard around it. 

When he presses his cock against Rhys, Duncan has to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. Having Rhys like this, helpless and yet willing to take what Duncan gives him, is almost more than he can stand. With his head to one side, Rhys has his eyes half closed. His hands lie on the small of his back, fingers intertwined loosely, cuffs gripping his wrists. 

Duncan pushes in, buries himself to the hilt in one unhurried movement. Keeps still, his balls pressed against Rhys', his fingers digging into Rhys' hips.

His first thrust into Rhys, long and deep, pulls an almost silent moan from Rhys, mouth open and neck arched. The sight spurs Duncan into continuing like this, fucking Rhys slow and hard. The only noise is their heavy breathing and Duncan's groin slapping against Rhys' ass. 

Gradually, Rhys' moans become louder and Duncan speeds up, no longer bothering to pull out. He holds on to the chain between the cuffs, forces Rhys to raise up his body. Soon, Rhys is balanced on his knees, arms stretched out behind him, held only by Duncan. Every thrust pushes him forward and he almost falls, until Duncan catches him. 

Rhys lets his head slump down, face hidden by his hair. All his muscles are tense, quivering with the strain of holding this position. Duncan finally has mercy on him and pulls him up with one arm around his chest, holds Rhys against himself, chest pressed to Rhys' back.

He uses his free hand to pull Rhys' hair to one side and tip Rhys' head back, fingers curled lightly around his throat. Rhys' pulse is racing under Duncan's palm. 

"I want you to come for me." Duncan punctuates his words with a hard thrust into Rhys' ass and is rewarded with a helpless moan. He slides the hand holding Rhys' chest down between his legs, takes Rhys' cock in hand and starts to stroke it in time with his thrusts.

Rhys arches his back against Duncan, spreading his legs wider so he can stay upright even with Duncan rutting into him. His breath comes in gasps, loud in Duncan's ears, and he thrusts his hips forward, pulls them back on Duncan's cock, fucks himself on it. 

With a cry, Rhys stiffens in Duncan's arms and hot cum runs over Duncan's fingers. Duncan doesn't stop, fucks Rhys through his orgasm. He keeps stroking him to hear Rhys cry out. To make him clench hard around Duncan's cock. To take what he wants from Rhys.

Lust sweeps him away like a firestorm, takes gentleness and caution with it and burns them to ashes. Duncan comes with a last hard thrust, pulls Rhys against himself with all his strength.

When he finds back to himself, Rhys is stretched out on his stomach in front of him, gasping for breath, coughing. Cum leaks out of his ass, runs down his thighs where Duncan spilled the last of it after letting him fall.

Gulping down air, Duncan scrabbles for the keys to the handcuffs, takes them off of Rhys. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean--'

Rhys turns on his side and gives Duncan a quick, wavering smile. 'It's okay. I'm fine.'

Bruises are already forming on his neck. A clear red mark for each of Duncan's fingers. Rhys' wrists are scraped. 

'Let me clean you up.' 

Duncan wants to do that, at least, and Rhys allows him, opens his legs for Duncan to wipe off the cum. He waits until Duncan has pushed away the blanket Rhys came all over and then lies down again, pats the bedroll in an invitation.

'I'm fine, really. Come, let's go to sleep.' Rhys holds out a hand to Duncan.

Lying down and taking Rhys in his arms, Duncan presses his face against the back of Rhys' neck. He promises silently to watch himself better next time. Just because Rhys is an ork doesn't mean Duncan can't hurt him. And Rhys trusts him so much. He deserves to be safe with Duncan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> Content notes:  
> Anal sex  
> D/s  
> BDSM  
> abuse


	10. Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The man who owns the map has flat out refused to deal with them. No matter how nicely Rhys had asked or how ominously Duncan had loomed over him. Deadtoes obviously feels safe under the watchful eye of the local warriors, and he has every right to._  
>  Things go wrong, rapidly so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wildfire: a sweeping and destructive conflagration especially in a wilderness or a rural area

'Fuck, we really need that map. Without it, we'll just be wandering the Wasteland.' Duncan scowls. 

The man who owns the map has flat out refused to deal with them. No matter how nicely Rhys had asked or how ominously Duncan had loomed over him. Deadtoes obviously feels safe under the watchful eye of the local warriors, and he has every right to. He's their healer and apparently the only one who knows how their water pump works. A small time Immortan Joe, and just as unpleasant, as far as Duncan is concerned.

'Let's spend the night. It's too late to get anywhere now anyway, and I want to try again tomorrow, maybe make a deal.' Rhys watches Deadtoes strut back to his home, a big bus surrounded at a respectful distance by smaller huts and shacks that seem to be huddling together for warmth around the bus and the pump next to it.

Duncan doesn't feel like hanging around after being dismissed like this, but he knows Rhys is right. And while Deadtoes might be an asshole, he relies on trade and isn't in the habit of robbing travellers. 

They settle down for the night, share some food with one of the families. The woman has traded some of the tubers Rhys had found earlier for water and has invited them. Duncan gets the impression that their kid has something to do with this - after staring at Rhys for hours, the girl is now glued to his side. She's marvelling at his tattoos and listens attentively to his stories about them.

They all are. Duncan never gets tired of the stories and by the time the sun has set, Rhys has an audience of easily fifteen people. Half the settlement, gathered around their fire.

Rhys indulges them when they ask for one more story, and one more after that, while it gets cold and dark around them. Finally, people start to get up and go home, thanking Rhys for the stories in low voices.

Duncan stretches and yawns. 'I'm gonna go sleep. You coming?'

'Go ahead. I want to watch the stars a little.' Rhys seems to be in one of his thoughtful moods and Duncan doesn't stop him. He knows Rhys will come later, nestle into him and share his warmth. Duncan rolls into the blankets on the back seat and is asleep in seconds.

When he wakes up, he's still alone. The cold has woken him and he rolls over to look out of the truck window. The moon is still riding high but it has been hours since Duncan has gone to sleep. Immediate worry twists Duncan's gut.

'Fuck.' Duncan untangles himself from the blankets, gets his shotgun and his knife and goes to look for Rhys.

The tracks in the sand leave him with no clue. Too many people have come and gone to make sense of it. The guards circling the settlement have seen nothing. Duncan isn't surprised; he has full confidence in Rhys' ability to get past them unseen if he wants to, but he doesn't find any tracks leading away. It calms him at least a little.

Walking back towards the centre of the camp, Duncan sees light shining out between the blackout panels across the windows of the bus. He figures he'll knock and ask - maybe he'll even find Rhys there. 

The door opens easily when Duncan presses on it and he steps carefully into the front of the bus which is separated from the actual living quarters by another door. He is just about to call out so he doesn't get shot in the face when he hears a voice. It's just a choked moan, but it is Rhys.

Duncan freezes. Holding his breath and hand on his knife, he tries to remember the layout of the bus.

Rhys cries out and the cry stops abruptly, like someone put a hand over his mouth. 

Duncan charges, all caution lost. The door bangs into the wall after a kick from Duncan. One bound takes him right into the room.

For a moment, no one moves. Not Duncan, knife brandished. Not Rhys, bent over a table with his pants down and his legs spread, pale face turned towards Duncan.

And not Deadtoes, cock buried in Rhys' ass, one hand gripping Rhys hair and the other Rhys' wrists.

With a snarl, Duncan jumps him. Grabs Deadtoes and pulls him off of Rhys. Stumbling over the pants around his knees, Deadtoes goes down. Lands hard on his back, hits his head. His hand scrabbles for the gun in the holster under his arm.

One knee pinning Deadtoes' arm to his chest, Duncan thrusts his knife under Deadtoes' chin. The blade impales him with loud crunch. Hot blood runs over Duncan's hand. Choking, Deadtoes scratches at Duncan's face. He dies when Duncan twists the knife and wrenches it out. 

Rhys is leaning against the table. He has pulled up his pants and stares at Duncan, eyes wide. His breath comes in loud sobs, muffles by the hand he has clamped over his mouth.

'Let's go!' Duncan grabs him and pulls him forward. They need to get out of here right now.

Rhys follows, but breaks out of Duncan's grip and runs back.

'What are you _doing_?' Duncan moves to grab him again.

Rhys is frantically digging in the mess of junk under the table, kneeling in the pool of blood spreading out from Deadtoes. Before Duncan can pull him upright, Rhys stands up on his own. A roll of cloth, wet with blood at the bottom, is clutched in his fist like it's worth more than his life.

'Walk. Don't run.' Duncan stops in the doorway and listens. Everything seems quiet. He can hear two guards quietly talking. Stepping out into the cold night air, Duncan walks towards their truck, Rhys in tow. Fast, but not in a hurry.

He makes Rhys get in and presses the door gently shut behind him. Every second of a headstart they can get is precious. Maybe they'll even get away clean. It's not unusual for people to travel at night and they didn't tell anyone about their plans.

Duncan grits his teeth at the loud roar when he starts the engine. Good thing they are parked at the border of the camp. Duncan is always too cautious to move the truck far into any settlement, and now it's paying off.

Driving at an unhurried speed, he points the truck towards the road. Behind them, one of the guards comes running but Duncan ignores him. Once on the road, he guns the engine.

Rhys is curled in the seat next to him. Blood on his clothes, his face hidden behind his hair and his knees drawn up. He is still clutching the roll of cloth in his lap.

'Are you hurt?' Duncan doesn't know how to ask what he really wants to know.

Rhys just shakes his head, his hair flying. The blood from the map soaks into his clothes and he tries to wipe it off with a rag, dabs at the blood. His attention is on the map, barely any of it left for Duncan.

'We'll go offroad soon, lose them in the Wastes. Hide. I know a place.' Duncan badly wants to comfort Rhys but doesn't know how to do that either. So he focuses on keeping Rhys safe.

It's almost dawn when they settle in the hideout Duncan has brought them to, their truck carefully covered with camouflage netting. A rise hides them from the road. They got here by driving part of the way through a long-dry riverbed, all pebbles and stones that hopefully will hide their tracks.

Rhys leans against the truck, spreading open the map over his lap. Blood has dried on his hands, his clothes and his face, Rhys' own fingerprints in blood. He hasn't said a word yet.

Duncan comes to kneel beside him but has no attention for the map. He makes Rhys look at him with one hand under his chin.

'What happened? Why did you go back?' He tries for a soft tone of voice but even to himself, it sounds like an accusation. 

'I thought he might negotiate with me if he didn't have to save face in front of everyone, and in front of you. Maybe let me copy the map. I thought I had a chance—' Rhys doesn't continue, but Duncan suddenly remembers the way Deadtoes looked at Rhys. He hadn't liked the look then, but he had thought it was simple greed. That Deadtoes was trying to hold out for a better price than what they'd offered.

'You can't put yourself in that situation! What if he decided to just keep you? You need to stay with me!' After Bartertown, Duncan has grown downright paranoid about this. He can't stand the thought of losing Rhys.

Eyes so wide Duncan can see the white in them, Rhys has shrunken against the truck with his hands raised. Duncan realises he has shouted at him. 

Breathing through his nose, Duncan tries to calm himself. 'Listen, I'm not saying it's your fault. _He_ attacked you, forced himself on you. That's on him'

Rhys stares at him for a heartbeat longer before he drops his gaze and his hands. 'I'm sorry I put you in that situation. I only wanted to help, to get the map for us.'

Duncan shushes him, cups Rhys' face in his hand and runs a thumb over his cheek. 'I don't regret killing him. And we have the map. We'll wait here a little longer and then we'll leave. Why don't you try and get some sleep? I'll keep watch.'

Rhys nods, leans into Duncan's touch for a short moment. He rolls the map into a bundle again and takes it with him as he goes to lie down. When Duncan checks on him after a while, Rhys is asleep with the bundle cradled in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaread by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> Content Info:  
> rape  
> graphic violence


	11. Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The molotov cocktail hits the stone and explodes, showering Duncan with shards and fire. He throws himself forward, rolling in the sand and suffocating the flames clinging to him._  
>  Things go even more wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fracture: the separation of an object or material into two or more pieces under the action of stress.

They attack on foot and take Duncan completely by surprise. 

He has leaned against the rock face, lethargic in the midday heat. The molotov cocktail hits the stone and explodes, showering Duncan with shards and fire. He throws himself forward, rolling in the sand and suffocating the flames clinging to him.

Screaming, the warriors charge, sliding and jumping down the slope. Duncan can't count them, but there are many. Everyone is eager to get revenge for Deadtoes, it seems. Bullets ping off the metal of the truck, shatter one window. More bullets spray sand, drawing a line towards Duncan and he runs towards the truck for cover. 

A searing pain in his calf, and he falls. His leg buckles when he tries to get up. He tries again, drawing his own gun and firing blindly. Doesn't bother to aim. Two of the warriors sprawl in the sand and stop moving.

it's pure luck and the last bit of luck Duncan has. A hard impact to his chest knocks the breath out of him. Stumbling, going down on his knees. Another strike to the chest. The taste of blood. Blood on the sand when he coughs. Bright red.

The first warrior has almost reached him. His knife glints blindingly in the sun. Duncan tries to bring up his gun. It's so heavy, it almost slips from his hand. His shot goes wide.

A roar from behind him, full of rage. The warrior is suddenly engulfed in flames. He collides with Duncan and goes down. Writhing in the sand until Duncan shoots him point blank. He crawls away from the heat of the flames.

Rhys is standing out in the open, not caring about the bullets. He hurls fire at their attackers, taking them down. One of them charges him and Rhys whips his head around. The man simply crumples, falling on his face at Rhys' feet. With a casual gesture, Rhys dumps a handful of glaring white light on top of him. The crackle of electricity raises the hairs on Duncan's body, even at a distance. The man's body arches up, his limbs jittering, and then lies still.

There's a flickering shape around Rhys. A bear. Duncan recognises it from the tattoo on Rhys' back. It's enormous, a mass of shaggy fur, long claws and sharp fangs. It roars silently - or maybe it does make a sound. Duncan can't hear much any more. He's on his knees, fighting for every breath. 

Rhys advances on the men and women who came to avenge their leader. Now they are running for their lives. Rhys takes them down. One after the other, they die. Some burn, some fry and some just — die.

Silence. Nothing moves. Except the last of the flames, almost invisible in the glare of the noonlight. The bodies are only dark shapes, strewn across the sand. Smoke curls upwards from them.

Rhys stands, eyes wide, chest heaving. The bear is gone. Duncan looks up at him. Coughs, curls up with the pain in his chest. Blood runs down his chin, fills his mouth. He can't seem to catch his breath. What air he gets tastes sickly sweet from the smoke.

This is bad. Duncan doesn't understand how Rhys did what he did, but he understands he is dying. He's glad he isn't alone. Rhys will know what to do.

The silence stretches and Rhys still stands there, frozen. Suddenly, he whirls around, runs to the truck. Pulls the camouflage net off, gets in the truck and starts the engine. Sand fountains up under the truck's wheels and it speeds off.

Duncan can only stare, numb with shock.

The truck vanishes over the rise. The noise of the engine quickly fades. Duncan's vision fades with it, tunnelling. He fights to stay conscious. Tries to crawl towards the road. 

He collapses halfway up the rise. Another dark shape, curled in the hot sand.

Rhys slams the brakes, kills the engine. He's gulping down air in huge gasps and shivering all over. The truck comes to a halt and the dust cloud catches up with it, engulfing it. The ticking of the grains of sand on the truck's metal is the only sound once Rhys muffles his gasps with both hands over his mouth.

He's free. Free to go where he wants, do what he wants. And it frightens him. The wide open landscape seems fraught with danger at every turn.

He also can't forget the shock on Duncan's face at seeing Rhys abandon him. Rhys didn't think he'd care what Duncan feels. He saw his chance to get rid of Duncan and he took it. It's what Rhys has waited for and dreamed of. No one who forces him into anything. No more constant attention so he can avoid being punished. No more need to use his body to keep Duncan in a good mood.

But also no one to protect him. No barrier between him and the Wasteland. Rhys is well aware of how exotic he is. He has spent his life learning that. What a tempting target to bounty hunters and anyone with power he is. 

Sure, he can protect himself if he needs to. 

With magic. 

It will only paint an even bigger target on his back. He will be hunted, and he has no illusions of his own limits. At some point, someone _will_ catch him. Keep him or sell him.

With Duncan, he had someone he could manage. Someone who wasn't all that bad. The best of all of Rhys' owners. 

Not a great achievement. 

Rhys has been sitting for so long that the dust has settled. He's breathing more slowly, has stopped shivering. He sits for a few heartbeats more and then starts the engine again, turns the truck around.

It takes him a moment to find Duncan, with all the bodies around. In the end, he spots the tracks Duncan left crawling and runs up the rise. 

_Fuck — please don't let him be dead-_

Duncan is unconscious, and there's a lot of blood staining the sand. Rhys kneels next to him, sucks down a deep breath and slips into astral sight. Duncan's aura is greying, bleeding colour into nothingness. The dark blotches of his injuries are the most vivid thing left. They pulse weakly, spread with every beat of Duncan's heart.

One hand on Duncan's neck, Rhys casts his spells. Puts all the strength he dares into them. Slowly, colour returns to Duncan's aura. It blooms a vivid green. Like Rhys imagines the desert transforms after rain. 

When he is done, there are still grey patches left. But he knows from experience that these will fade. Duncan's burns are healed, and his lungs are no longer torn apart by bullets. He just needs rest. 

So does Rhys. Blood is dripping from his nose, leaving a metallic tang on his tongue, and he has a raging headache. Dark spots cloud his vision, growing bigger and shrinking down with each heartbeat. He takes the handcuffs from Duncan's belt and cuffs Duncan's hands on his back. Then he drags him down the rise to the truck and puts him on the backseat. Attaches a short chain to the cuffs. He has no desire for Duncan waking up and overpowering him.

Crows have already arrived to pick at the dead, and Rhys hurries to put distance between him and them. They will attract attention and he wants to be far away when the human scavengers arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you
> 
> Content Notes:  
> Graphic Violence  
> Burning


	12. Indurated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Duncan still can't understand why Rhys ran like that. He's relieved to see him unhurt. Then he realises that he himself is unhurt, too. No injuries, no pain. Only the bullet holes in the car show that the ambush hadn't been a dream._  
>  Some unpleasant revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indurated: the hardening of soil or rock

Duncan wakes with a start. He can breathe. He can't move his arms. He's leaning against the truck. Dusk is falling and Rhys is sitting at a distance, watching him.

Seeing him, Duncan's heart skips a beat. 'You came back! Why-- What happened?' 

Duncan still can't understand why Rhys ran like that. He's relieved to see him unhurt. Then he realises that he himself is unhurt, too. No injuries, no pain. Only the bullet holes in the car show that the ambush hadn't been a dream. 

Trying to sit up, Duncan finds that he is handcuffed. Confusion struggles to stay afloat in the shifting sands of cold dread.

'Why did I come back? Because life with you is better than without you. But make no mistake, things will change. We will not go back to how things used to be. You've seen what I can do.' Rhys stares at him unflinchingly, his eyes cold.

'What?' Duncan is honestly confused, can't process what's going on. 'How-- Were you always able to do that? To kill people like that. I almost died! What happened?' He latches on at random to one of the questions racing through his mind. 'You could have told me!'

'Oh _really_? So you could have sold me for an even bigger price when it suited you? Or so you could shoot me because you finally decided that I creep you out too much? Because I'm too dangerous to keep around?' Rhys shakes his head, bares his teeth. 'Why would I.'

'I'd never have done that!' Duncan remembers how he thought about selling Rhys right away and blushes with shame. 

He still doesn't know what Rhys means by _things will change_. 'What— What do you want?'

Rhys gives a bitter laugh. 'I need someone who looks like he's my owner and my protector, so people leave me alone. I have no wish to reveal my magic to anyone else. So that is your job. We'll stay together. But from now on, I decide what we do. And if you ever so much as touch me again, I will burn you. I will make you wish you were dead and then I will heal you again. Don't try to rely on the fact that I need you for protection. I can make your life hell if I want to.'

Duncan stares at Rhys. He grasps at the first thing that comes to his mind. 'But— I don't understand. Is this about the bounty hunting? I wouldn't make you—'

In a flash, Rhys has grabbed him and shoved him hard against the car, a hand to Duncan's throat. He lets go with a deep breath and sits at arm's length from Duncan, visibly shaking with rage. 

'You fucking well know what this is about. It's about you treating me as your property. It's about you deciding to _keep_ me and feeling generous just because you don't chain me. It's about you expecting to fuck me whenever you feel like it and I don't get to say no.'

'You could have said no! I never forced you!' 

Duncan swallows his next words because Rhys is at his throat again, has pulled him up on his feet in one movement. 

By instinct, Duncan does the right thing. He doesn't struggle but also doesn't look away. 'I'm sorry. I didn't want any of this— I thought we were— I'm sorry.'

For a moment, neither of them moves. Then Rhys shoves Duncan away, so hard he stumbles and falls. Duncan stays down. Rhys looks murderously angry and Duncan is truly frightened of him. The image of the burning warriors, flesh melting off bones, is etched into his memory, so deep that he can still hear the screams and smell that sickly sweet smoke.

Rhys closes his eyes and turns away from Duncan, stays completely still for a while. When he turns back, his face is expressionless. 'You really think that I had a choice.' He laughs again and it's so sharp and full of hate that it cuts Duncan's heart to pieces. 'I don't even know if that makes it better or worse.'

He steps closer and looks down on Duncan, still sprawled in the sand on his back. 'I had about as much of a choice as you do now. Go on, run. See how far you get. I'm not holding you. I'll even take off the handcuffs.' He squats down so suddenly Duncan flinches. 'And if you stay and are nice to me, maybe I won't just flip my shit out of the blue and decide that I can sell you after all or just leave you in the desert to die.'

With a smile that is eerily calm, Rhys touches Duncan's face, fingers softly resting on his cheek. 'Making you like me, fucking you, was my _only_ way to give myself at least a little security you wouldn't do that. Think about that. Think about how many things you took for granted from me.'

He stands up again and throws the key to the handcuffs down in the sand in front of Duncan. 'We'll stay here until tomorrow. I don't particularly want to speak to you until then.' 

Rhys turns and walks away, wiping the hand that touched Duncan on his robe.

Rhys comes back at dusk after walking for hours to clear his head. His rage has calmed, but he still doesn't talk to Duncan, doesn't comment on the fact that Duncan has dragged a few blankets out of the truck to sleep a couple of meters away from it. The distance is exactly what Rhys needs right now.

He curls up on the backseat and tries to go to sleep. Exhaustion wants to knock him out, but his thoughts keep racing, try to make plans. Eventually he dozes off, only to be woken again by a choked howl. Sitting up, Rhys blinks into the darkness outside of the truck.

It's Duncan, kneeling in the nest of blankets he has made, both hands over his mouth, trying very hard to hold back the sobs that shake his body. 

Rhys can still hear him.

Sudden rage burns in Rhys' gut and he grits his teeth in a snarl. He wants to go outside and make Duncan shut up. Kick him until he stops. Until he's helpless on his back, terrified of Rhys. The memory of seeing Duncan like that earlier only fans the flames of Rhys' anger.

Duncan has no _right_ to cry. Not after all the things he did. After how he used Rhys.

The quiet sounds of Duncan's misery remind Rhys of all the times he fought not to cry like that, scared Duncan would hear it and lose patience with him. And of the times he did cry, with Duncan fast asleep or away on an errand. Of the times he knelt retching in the sand after fucking Duncan, always careful not to let Duncan see.

Unbidden, it reminds him also of the times he hadn't been able to hide and Duncan had seen his tears. Of Duncan's worried reactions and clumsy kindness. Rhys has always assumed it's a trap. Bait.

He has never dared to take Duncan's affection as anything other than self-serving, a way to make Rhys easier to handle. Something that makes Duncan feel good about himself, at least until Rhys does something wrong and angers Duncan.

As a consequence, he has almost never been honest with Duncan, always told him what Rhys thought he wanted to hear. It has been his way of surviving for as long as he can remember.

With a disgusted growl deep in his throat, Rhys realises that he has pity for Duncan. He doesn't _want_ to. He wants to be angry at him, and to be able to coldly use him with no regard for Duncan's well-being. But he can't. Whether he likes it or not, he has feelings for Duncan, a whole complicated jumble of them.

It's too much to sort out right now. Rhys lies back down and pulls the blanket over his head, his hands over his ears to keep out Duncan's quiet noises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you!
> 
> Content Info:  
> abuse  
> violence  
> mentions of past rape and abuse


	13. Flash Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But once they are in the car and on the road, Duncan watches Rhys, out of the corner of his eyes, at all times. He keeps his distance, moves slowly, misery painted all over his face and his body. A couple of times, he seems on the verge of saying something. It's enough to make Rhys' anger flare up, make him ball his fists and clench his jaw._  
>  Rhys is in control now. It's different from what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flash floor: A sudden, rapid flood, usually of short duration and local impact.

Dawn has come while sleep has not. It's still cold when Rhys gets up, but he's done with laying around wide awake. Duncan has fallen silent and is now curled under his blankets, a heap in the sand. He's up and awake the moment Rhys lets the truck's door fall shut.

'We'll leave now. Pack your stuff.' Rhys walks around the car so he doesn't have to watch Duncan. He sits, chewing some lizard jerky, and watches the sun rise until Duncan is done.

Duncan eats nothing.

Rhys doesn't care.

Duncan says nothing.

Rhys doesn't care.

But once they are in the car and on the road, Duncan watches Rhys, out of the corner of his eyes, at all times. He keeps his distance, moves slowly, misery painted all over his face and his body. A couple of times, he seems on the verge of saying something. It's enough to make Rhys' anger flare up, make him ball his fists and clench his jaw.

Being this close to each other in the car doesn't help, but they need to move. And they need to get used to their new relationship somehow. All his life, Rhys has often dreamed of being the one in charge, able to make decisions. Now that he has it, it's terrifying. But he will not back down and allow Duncan to own him once more.

Maybe, once they have found the ork settlement, he can leave Duncan. Let him go. But for now, he needs him. He needs the camouflage of a big warrior.

Rhys settles in his seat, staring straight ahead while the truck eats up the road in front of them and spits it out as a dust cloud behind them.

Rhys doesn't feel like cooking that night and neither does Duncan, apparently. They both eat some hardtack and drink some water, not bothering with a fire. 

Duncan takes a deep breath and Rhys wants to snarl at him to shut up before he even has said anything. 

It makes Duncan flinch but he soldiers on. 'Thank you for healing me. That's what happened, isn't it? I know I got shot, not just once, and now, there's almost _nothing_ , only a couple of scratches.'

He digs aimlessly in the sand in front of him, casting quick glances up at Rhys. 'Were you always able to do that? Or did you learn from someone?'

Faced with the overwhelming evidence for Rhys' magic, Duncan seems to have surprisingly few problems accepting it as possible. Rhys had more problems himself when he first found out.

Grudgingly, Rhys answers him. Each word seems to get stuck in his throat because each word spoken means he is treating Duncan as an equal and Duncan has done nothing to deserve that.

'I found out that I could do it when I was pretty young. At first, it was just small stuff, but it got stronger. I practised and I took care that no one ever saw. If anyone had found out, I would have been sold to some war lord, to be their weapon. And before you say I could have fought: it's exhausting. I'm not invincible. Far from it. Eventually, they would have caught me, forced me to do what they want. Better to keep it hidden and be a rarity only due to my looks and knowledge.' Rhys has struggled with this a lot, over the course of his life. And he really does think it's the best thing he can do.

Duncan nods slowly, thinks about it. Or maybe he just doesn't know what to say. Silence stretches between them.

'I'm sorry.' Duncan's voice makes Rhys jump. He had been lost in his own thoughts. 

'I really thought that we were— partners. After a while. I know I shouldn't have just kept you, forced you to stay with me like that. But once we started bounty hunting, I trusted you. You could have left. It's not like I kept you chained. And you didn't leave. So I thought that we— that we had something. That you stayed because you liked me. And it made me happy.' 

Duncan shuts up when Rhys abruptly stands.

'Well, you were _wrong_ about that. You were so busy being happy for yourself, dragging me along and taking me for granted. And why wouldn't you? It worked out great for you. You had someone to do your dirty work, who you could use to be nice to people so you didn't have to. And let's not forget, someone who'd suck your cock or let himself get fucked whenever you felt like it.' Rhys' voice has started out low and sharp, but now he's yelling, standing over Duncan, who is frozen and wide-eyed. 

With a deep breath, Rhys turns away. ' _Fuck_ you. Get used to the idea that I'm no longer here to make you feel good about yourself.'

More nights of not sleeping and more days of not speaking. Of driving, cooped up in the truck all day except for when they stop at a tiny settlement to trade for guzzoline. They have plenty, but it can't hurt to have more. They don't stay. They don't want to attract attention, and Rhys doesn't feel like having people around.

He also doesn't feel like having Duncan around. There's nothing he can do about that, though.

Duncan still moves so carefully around Rhys, as if he's afraid Rhys will explode at any moment. And that's something Rhys is painfully familiar with. He knows that state of constant watchfulness, of trying to guess the other person's mood before it turns sour. And he can't help but feel sorry for Duncan.

Rhys has had a lot of time to think over the last few days. And he can't keep this up. He cannot stay this angry at Duncan. It's exhausting, and the rage keeps churning in his gut, making him sick.

 _And it made me happy._ Duncan didn't lie about that, Rhys is sure. He hates that he believes it, but he does believe it. Duncan is many things, but he is not a good liar.

If he believes this, he has to believe that Duncan actually cares. And if Duncan actually cares, then Rhys has to face the fact that he himself is at least in part responsible for their situation. He never stopped to consider that Duncan might be different. Everything in his life has taught him to not do that. Everything he knows has told him to manipulate Duncan as best as he can so life is bearable. And Duncan had been easy to steer. Not all the time, but often enough.

Rhys had thought that this was because Duncan isn't used to living with anyone. And Rhys has gotten _very_ good at manipulating people. It has been a matter of survival. He never considered that it has been this easy because Duncan honestly cares about him. Not just about what Rhys can do for him.

Still, he cannot forget the many times Duncan treated him like property, unthinkingly taken him for granted, or even abused him. Not with violence, except that one time. But with words and acts that made it clear how little he thought about Rhys' wishes or needs.

But at other times, he did think about that, and they stand out just as clearly in Rhys' mind. The little things - Duncan buying him the Yakka resin, or some kind of food Rhys likes. The big things - Duncan risking his life for Rhys' freedom at the Thunderdome.

With a scream of rage, Rhys jumps up and kicks at the truck's tire, lands a punch on its side. It hurts, and it only serves to make him more angry. Duncan is sitting bolt upright on his bedroll, watching Rhys and clearly expecting the violence to turn on him.

The rage claws at Rhys' mind, urging him to pounce and maul. To end this, right here and now. 

Breathing heavily, Rhys turns and runs. Fleeing blindly away from Duncan, to hide among the rocks that shelter their campside.

He stumbles and falls to his knees, screaming again until tears take away his voice. Crouched on all fours, sobs shake Rhys so hard he can't breathe, can't swallow. Rhys buries his face in his arms and cries, sucking down air in huge hiccuping gasps that do nothing to fill his lungs. 

Nose stuffed and stomach aching from the force of the sobs, Rhys flinches when he hears Duncan's voice from behind him. He hasn't sensed him. Duncan moves surprisingly quiet.

'Rhys?' Duncan is close and his voice hesitant. The worry in it is clear to the point of being anguish. 'Rhys, please—'

'GO!' Rhys yells at him, a sudden fresh burst of anger fuelling his voice. 'Leave me alone.'

Duncan doesn't. He squats down in front of Rhys and Rhys sits up to look at him, already snarling. It's enough to make Duncan hold up both hands, palm out. 

'Please. Come back with me, you're not safe out here.'

'Go _away_ , Duncan. Right _now_.' Rhys doesn't want to see him or talk to him. He just wants to be alone and not think for a while.

Duncan can't seem to think of anything more to say. He nods and walks away. This time, Rhys tries to keep track of him, straining his ears. Out of sight but just within earshot, Duncan stops. 

He stays there all night while Rhys lies curled up and shivering in the sand, refusing to go back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes:  
> mentions of past abuse


	14. Mimicry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rhys flinches, but forces himself to hold Duncan's gaze. 'And you think because you apologise, things will suddenly be okay? How do you think this should work? I suddenly forget everything you did because you're nice to me now?'_  
>  Another hard conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mimicry: the act or ability to simulate the appearance of someone or something else

'I won't go there. Not like this.' Duncan has stopped the truck, turned off the engine. Rhys stares at him in complete surprise. 

After Rhys' outburst, they have started talking again. They do a careful dance around each other and around everything standing between them, touching only what they absolutely need to talk about. What direction they are headed. What to eat. 

Short sentences. It's like they are throwing a thunderstick to and fro between them and the slightest carelessness will make it explode, killing them both.

They are headed into territory neither of them knows. With the map and all the snippets of information and rumours they have gathered, they have a good idea of where they are going. It's still an enormous risk, and for something that might not even be there. But so far, they have both been in agreement that this is what they will do nonetheless.

'You want to leave? Go. Good luck.' Rhys knows fully well it's a death sentence, and Duncan can't leave now. A part of Rhys wants him gone anyway. But most of him is afraid and nervous. He does not want to fight Duncan for the truck. He does not want to fight Duncan at all.

'No, damnit! I don't want to leave. I want—,' Duncan take a deep breath, 'I want us to be partners again. Not like we used to be. For real this time.'

He clutches the steering wheel hard and then lets go, his hands falling into his lap. 'I know I fucked up. But this— we can't go on like this. It will kill us, sooner or later. We need to talk, to figure this out.'

The truck cabin is way too small for them suddenly, and Rhys shoves the door open, almost falls out in his haste to flee this confrontation. He stays leaned against the side of the truck and Duncan comes around, but keeps his distance. 

Duncan is an excellent endurance hunter. He pursues his goal with the same unending patience and doggedness he would use to follow fleeing prey. And Rhys is too exhausted and too wounded to keep running. He collapses to the ground.

"I won't let you touch me, ever again. And you won't decide over me.' Rhys stares up at Duncan, his knees pulled up against his chest.

Duncan sits, out of arm's reach. 'I don't want to decide over you. But you don't get to decide over me either. We decide together. We share what we have. And we don't lie to each other."

Rhys flinches, but forces himself to hold Duncan's gaze. 'And you think because you apologise, things will suddenly be okay? How do you think this should work? I suddenly forget everything you did because you're nice to me now?'

'I don't _know_. I really don't know. I guess we need to figure that out together, too.' Duncan makes a little pyramid of sand in front of himself, hands moving restlessly. 'If you're willing to try.'

There's the vulnerability again that makes it impossible for Rhys to hate him. Rhys also knows Duncan won't be intimidated into obedience. If Rhys threatens him now, Duncan will call his bluff. And it is a bluff. Now that his rage has boiled down into anger and then into a sick feeling sitting heavy in his stomach, Rhys no longer has the will to hurt Duncan to make him do what he wants.

Rhys is not made to be a slaver, apparently. As much as he would like to, he can't ignore Duncan's feelings and wishes. He wanted to show Duncan what it has been like for him, but he can't keep this up. 

'I don't even know where to start.' Rhys speaks slowly, every word a huge effort. 'I know you tried. But you also treated me like your property so many times, without even thinking about it. And I didn't dare to speak up for myself. I've seen you beat and kill people like it's nothing.'

'I wouldn't have—' Duncan starts to protest then stops himself. Nods silently, then looks at Rhys with his head to one side. 'You could have easily killed me. Why didn't you?'

The question forces a laugh from Rhys, dripping bitter poison on his tongue. 'You were better than all my other owners. I know that I can't make it on my own in the Wastes. I need someone to --protect me. So I don't have to protect myself with magic and make myself into a bigger target. I just let it all happen, told myself that this is the best I've ever had it in my life. And it is true. But it's not very hard to be better than anyone else who owned me before.'

Duncan's shoulders sag at Rhys' words. 'I didn't know. I really thought— You could have—' 

He searches for words. 

Looks down at the little sand pyramid. Flattens it and smoothes the sand down. Looks up at Rhys.

'I fell in love with you. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I— still love you.' Duncan has such a nakedly hopeful look on his face, Rhys can't even be angry at him.

'You don't love me. You love all the lies I have told you. You love the man who did everything you told him to, who freely offered you companionship and sex and who pretended he wanted to be with you. But that's not me.' Rhys feels guilty about this. He knows he shouldn't— he didn't ask to be taken captive, or to be Duncan's friend, let alone lover. 

Duncan nods, doesn't meet Rhys' eyes. Rhys has never seen him look so small.

Without raising his head, Duncan gets up and walks away from the truck. He sits down in the sand with his back to Rhys, pulls his hood over his head. And there he stays, unmoving and silent.

'Here. You need to eat something.' Rhys squats at some distance from Duncan and holds out a bowl with food. Some lizard jerky and dried desert tubers, made into something like a stew. 

He has spent the last hour thinking and watching Duncan not move an inch. All that time, Duncan has just looked out over the Wastes, in the direction of the ragged landscape they are headed into. It is a maze, and at its other side, there might be other orks.

Duncan looks at the bowl, then at Rhys, and then at the bowl again. He takes it and the spoon Rhys offers him and starts eating. Rhys sits beside him, close enough to touch if he wanted, and picks at his food. 

'I don't know how this works. I can't forget what you did. Not the bad things, and not the good things.' Rhys focuses on the bowl in his lap. From the corner of his eye, he can see that Duncan has stopped eating and is watching him.

'This was easier when I could tell myself that you're only here because you're my protection. That I would use you and didn't care about you. As much as I don't want to, I do care.' Rhys doesn't know where to go from there and falls silent.

The silence lasts for a few breaths, then Duncan speaks up.

'You said that I don't know you. Did you— was anything you told me the truth?' His voice is so quiet, Rhys barely hears him over his own heart beat, echoing in his ears.

It's a question Rhys would rather not answer. He's not sure he even can answer it. 'I didn't lie when I told you about my life before I met you. I lied about how much I wanted you and wanted to be with you. I lied so much about it that I started to believe my own lies.'

Food set aside and forgotten, Duncan turns to face him. There's that hopeful look again on his face. 'Can we start over? Without the lies. Without me treating you like I own you. I want to get to know you.'

Rhys is swept away by a wave of loneliness and longing at Duncan's words. He has _never_ had anything like this and he wants it so badly it hurts. But all his instincts and everything he has learned in his life tells him it's a trap. That he will only get hurt. To not trust Duncan, ever. 

He nods anyway.

Duncan's smile is shy and nervous, like a small animal poking its head out of its burrow to see if the danger has passed. And Rhys thinks that maybe he hasn't lied about wanting to be with Duncan after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notes:  
> discussion of past abuse


	15. Commissure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rhys concentrates and calls his bear. The one he has tattooed on his back, the one that has been with him ever since his magic woke when he was a child. It looks completely real, and looms over Duncan where he is sitting on the ground._  
>  Some surprise meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commissure: the location at which two objects are joined

'Can't you, I don't know, magic us a way out? Or find the right way?' Duncan says with a tone of _I am joking but I hope you actually can_. Rhys would be amused if he wasn't so annoyed.

They have been picking their way through a labyrinth of rock fins and small canyons, and their map is no help at all. The way the map points out has been blocked by a rockslide, far too big for them to shift. Trying to go around has brought them here, to the third dead end they have run into today.

Rhys gives a sigh. 'What do you think I could do about this? Magically open up the rock so we can drive through?' 

'I don't _know_ what you can do. Not like we ever talked about this.' Duncan shuts down the engine to give it a chance to cool down.

Hot anger flares up in Rhys. 'Would you like a list? All the new and exciting ways I can be useful to you?'

'Actually, yes. That _would_ be a good idea.' Duncan shoots Rhys a look, eyes narrowed and voice rising to match Rhys'.

A thrill of fear makes Rhys flinch and that stokes the anger into sudden rage. 'No. You don't get to know that. Not _ever_!'

The habit of keeping his magic secret is a lifelong one. The thought of telling Duncan about it frightens Rhys to death. He has never trusted anyone with this.

'So, what— we're only equal partners when you feel like it?' Duncan shoots right back, voice sharp. That he has a point only makes Rhys angrier.

'You have no right to make demands of me. No right at all. Not after what you did. I was only ever your partner when you felt like it!' Rhys is yelling, and the air between them fills with the static tingle of magic. It flows into Rhys' fingertips and all his power threatens to uncoil at once. 

'Get out. Right NOW!' It's a desperate scream.

Duncan doesn't stop to ask or argue. He flees the truck, almost falling in his haste, and scrambles for cover. 

Rhys curls up on the front seat, pulling his hood up so he doesn't have to see Duncan, or anything else. With closed eyes, he tries to breathe, to calm his rage. His fists are clenched so hard his nails dig into his palms. 

After a while, in the gloom and the warmth of his hood, with the soft fabric pressed against his cheek, his breathing slows. The sound of the wind outside and a bird repeating the same call over and over again sings Rhys' magic to sleep.

When he gets out to look for Duncan, he finds him sitting with his back to a boulder. Duncan has a good view of the truck from his hiding place, while not being visible from there himself. Rhys has only found him by following his tracks.

'I'm sorry. I lost control.' Rhys sits down on a rock at a little distance. 

Duncan shrugs. 'I just— I know I have no right to know this. But I think it's better if you tell me. You know what _I_ can do. You can make plans, knowing it. Back when I— called the shots, I had no secrets from you. I still don't."

The rage stirs in its sleep, kicks up some sparks. _What secrets would you even have?_ Rhys swallows the words down. 

'Your secrets don't get you hunted and enslaved. And it's not like you ever treated me like your partner unless it suited you." He takes a deep breath, holds up a hand to forestall Duncan's heated reply.

'This is getting us nowhere. I don't want to go back to how we were, only with flipped roles.' Rhys takes another deep breath and a leap of faith. 

'I can't magic us out of here. I can do what you saw - fire and healing wounds. I can do illusions that look very real, but not huge ones. The size of the truck, maybe. I can talk to you in your head, if you let me. I can see what people feel, kind of, if I want to. And I can do this.'

Rhys concentrates and calls his bear. The one he has tattooed on his back, the one that has been with him ever since his magic woke when he was a child. It looks completely real, and looms over Duncan where he is sitting on the ground. Its musk is strong in the clean desert air and its low rumble vibrates in Rhys' bones.

'This is Artrí. He's my— friend.'

Duncan tries and fails not to let it show, but he is clearly and quietly terrified. He cannot look away from the bear, and he's frozen. Rhys cannot help but find the sight gratifying.

When Duncan lifts a hand to let Artrí sniff his palm, Rhys is quietly impressed. But Duncan is good at overcoming his fear. Something Rhys always struggles with.

Artrí huffs a breath and turns from Duncan, comes to sit with Rhys. It's rare they have the chance to interact like this, and Rhys leans into him. Turning his face into Artrí's fur, Rhys breathes in his wild scent, so unlike anything else in this world. His fingers sink into the ruff of Artrí's neck.

'That's— I've never seen anything like this. At all.' Duncan sounds stunned. He's still staring at Artrí like he cannot believe what he is seeing. 'With all of that, why would you live like a slave? If I had your magic—'

Rhys' angry snarl is echoed by Artrí and it shuts Duncan right up.

'If you had my magic? What then? Would you try to have your own little Gas Town? Try to use magic to make people do what you want? Make them your followers? Your slaves?'

'No, I would—' Duncan tries to explain but Rhys doesn't want to hear it.

'You didn't need magic for that with me. And I'm not really interested in hearing what you would do with it.' Rhys' hand is digging deep into Artrí's fur as if it's the only thing holding him back.

'I _said_ I was sorry. It was wrong of me to keep you.' Duncan stands up and Rhys is immediately on his feet, too.

'What more do you _want_ of me?' Duncan sounds defeated under his anger.

'What more?' Rhys turns away from Duncan in exasperation. He wishes he had an answer for that. Something that might make him forgive Duncan, or make him feel less guilty about being with Duncan. But there's nothing.

Artrí's growl comes too late as a warning. Duncan is suddenly at Rhys' side, grabbing his arm. It's the first time he has touched Rhys since Rhys has become the one in charge.

'Tell me!' There's much more desperation than anger in Duncan's voice and it breaks.

Rhys turns on him, and whatever Duncan sees on his face makes him back off, both hands raised. 

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean— You know what, fuck this.' Duncan walks away, past the truck, and out of Rhys' sight, disappearing around the corner into the canyon they came from. He keeps his head down, hands balled into fists at his side. 

Rhys is torn between wanting to follow him to apologise, or scream at him, or just never moving again. There is no doubt in his mind that Duncan will be back, though.

Ever since their fight, Duncan looks at Rhys with desperate want every time he thinks Rhys won't notice. And it's written all over his aura. It's not sexual. It's _loneliness_. Rhys has become more and more aware how much power that gives him. More power than any threat with violence or magic could ever do.

Leaning against Artrí, burying his face in the bear's fur, Rhys gives them both time to calm down. He's just sliding down the rise towards the truck when he hears Duncan's voice raised in a shout. 

'HEY!'

There's more but the echoes swallow the words. Running to the truck, Rhys turns it around and drives in the direction Duncan walked away in. Artrí returns to astral space at a thought from Rhys, but keeps watch. There's someone there, he tells Rhys, and Duncan is with them.

The truck fishtails around the corner and towards where the canyon opens up at a fork. Rhys sees Duncan standing with his hands up, a couple of meters from someone aiming a rifle at him from atop a camel.

With a wave of relief, Rhys recognises the person on the camel, even though they are wrapped head to toe in sand-coloured wide clothes. He hastily gets out of the truck.

'Brain Picker! It's me, the Illustrated Man!' Rhys keeps his hands up just in case. He has met Brain Picker many times, and whenever his owner allowed it, they had spent time talking and exchanging stories. Brain Picker always knows the latest news and the most insane and the most reliable rumours. The only problem is telling which is which. 

Duncan doesn't turn, keeps his eyes on Brain Picker. The camel, at a prod, kneels with a indignant bleat and Brain Picker slides off. 

'Didn't expect you here. Last I heard, you were just out of Bartertown.'

Their voice is muffled by a piece of the headscarf slung in front of nose and mouth, showing only dark eyes in a tanned face. Brain Picker gives Duncan a look from beneath their headscarf that's curious and appraising, like Duncan is a thing they want to buy. If Rhys didn't know Brain Picker better, he would bristle at this. Duncan certainly does, but keeps quiet. 

'We will tell you all about it. Will you share some water with us?' Rhys is glad to see Brain Picker, of all the people to meet out here. They know the Wastes, and Rhys wants to ask about the ork settlement. Maybe get directions.

'Gladly.' The skin around Brain Picker's eyes crinkles in a smile. 

Duncan follows the exchange, face expressionless, only his eyes moving. He clearly doesn't like this but keeps his opinion to himself. Rhys appreciates his restraint.

Duncan watches Rhys and Brain Picker ponder the map, spread out before them and weighed down with stones at the edges. Deadtoes' blood has stained it in places but not too bad, it's still perfectly readable. Rhys avoids touching the blood. He doesn't make a big deal out of it, but Duncan notices.

'I've been there.' Brain Picker points where Rhys has placed the settlement on the map. 'They didn't want anything to do with outsiders, although their History Person came out to meet me. She was an ork and so were their guards, same ears and tusks as you have.'

'Did she say anything about how many people there were? Are there families? How did they all find each other?' Rhys leans forward, eager for answers.

Brain Picker shrugs. 'I think there are maybe fifty people there? But this was a long, long time ago. She didn't say how their group came to be, but a few of them remembered Before. They said that orks always used to live among their own, never with humans. That it only led to trouble when they mixed. She didn't teach me, but the old orks taught the others their own language. I've heard the guards use it, but I don't know what they said.' 

With a smile, surprisingly bright on their tanned face, Brain Picker looks from Rhys to Duncan. 'You should be welcome there. If it still exists.'

With a nod to Duncan, Brain Picker puts their head to the side, holds Duncan's gaze. 'Will you tell me about Graveltooth? It's quite a story, I'm willing to bet. Telling it could earn you a few supplies or a bed for the night along your way, too.'

Duncan gives a growl. 'No.'

'Your choice.' Brain Picker seems unconcerned. Maybe even reckless, because their next remark fires up Duncan's anger even though it's aimed at Rhys. 'Speaking of choice, I see you finally made yours. Stood up for yourself.'

Rhys is taken aback. 'How did you know?'

'Because you don't constantly watch him to see if he's going to hit you or yell at you. It suits you.' Another bright smile races across Brain Picker's face. Getting up, they start to gather their canteen and the box of supplies they had traded from Rhys and Duncan for directions. 'I've got to get going. I hope you find what you are looking for.'

Rhys gets up to help with loading it all up on the camel that is kneeling in the sand behind them, chewing cud and looking at them with its nostrils. Duncan is left sitting. He busies himself with rolling up the map again, thinking about how obvious the change in Rhys' behaviour is and how blind he has been.

Brain Picker comes back to Duncan and hunkers down next to him while Rhys is petting the camel. 'You know he still needs you? Not like he thinks, as protection. He needs someone who cares about him, and that's you.'

Duncan stares at him, open-mouthed. He is too surprised to be angry or think of a clever reply. ' —what?' He clears his throat. 'Yeah. I guess that's me.' 

His tone is sullen even to his own ears. He hates how true this is. 

Brain Picker gives him a last smile. 'You'll figure it out.'

They are camped out in another canyon, have driven as far as they could before nightfall. At least they are confident they know the way now, and so far, Brain Picker's directions have led them well.

The place is protected enough that they can sleep outside the car even with a steady wind going. It blows sand over the edge of the canyon and it curls and spirals as it falls but gets picked back up long before it reaches the ground. Duncan watches it until it gets too dark to see, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns.

'Can I ask you something? Without you being mad at me?' Duncan turns on his side and looks at Rhys who has dragged his bedroll right next to the truck. 

'I don't know. I'll try.' Rhys is half buried under his blanket and surfaces, props himself up on one elbow.

'Will it ever be enough? Me apologising for what I did? And if not, what do you want me to _do_?' Duncan is half hopeful, half terrified. But he has to know. Maybe Rhys has an answer, Duncan for sure doesn't.

Rhys looks at him so long that Duncan starts to shift nervously. There's something like pity in his eyes and Duncan wants to hide from it, he can't bear it.

With a sigh, Rhys looks away, shaking his head. 'I don't know. I don't know if it will ever be enough. I know I can't forget what happened. Maybe, with time, I'll find a way to live with it and to forgive you.'

'Do you want to? Forgive me?' Duncan holds his breath.

Rhys lies down again, rolls on his back and watches the sky for a long moment. The stars are far above and seem cold to Duncan. Distant.

'Yes.' Rhys' voice is so quiet, Duncan can barely hear it. But it fills him with fierce joy and hope. 

He's awake for a while longer, with Rhys breathing slowly and peacefully next to him. The stars are not quite so distant now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> Content Notes:  
> mentions of past abuses


	16. Dehiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'I wish- It might have been better for all of us if you hadn't been there at all.' There's a smile on his face that is so wistful and so cold at the same time, it frightens Duncan even more._  
>  The truth about Deadtoes.
> 
> Content info in the AN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dehiscence: the spontaneous opening at maturity of a plant structure, such as a fruit, anther, or sporangium, to release its contents

Rhys handles the map, careful not to touch the dark spots of dried blood. Duncan has noticed Rhys always wipes his hands on his pants or robe after touching it, and he does it now, too.

They have made their way through the labyrinth of canyons with Brain Picker's directions and are now in the open again. Driving towards the spot that marks their goal, getting closer every day. Duncan estimates it will take them one more day, if the map is correct.

They have stopped for the night, making camp at the side of what goes for a road. Out here, they sleep in shifts.

Duncan sees the small shudder of disgust when Rhys folds the map and brushes up against the dried blood. 

'I'm sorry I wasn't there in time to protect you.' Duncan wishes Rhys hadn't chosen to wander the camp alone that night, but he is not about to blame him for what happened.

Rhys looks up at him from where he is kneeling next to the box with what valuables they have. The map, a wordburger Rhys traded for, the bag of yakka resin, a pair of binoculars, little cloth bags of seeds Rhys has gathered in the Wastes or traded, a few other things.

Duncan cannot read his expression at all, and he is afraid he has angered Rhys. The sudden bitter laugh breaking out of Rhys makes Duncan flinch.

'I wish- It might have been better for all of us if you hadn't been there at all.' There's a smile on his face that is so wistful and so cold at the same time, it frightens Duncan even more.

'But- Why?' Duncan doesn't understand. He's not sure he wants to, but he also cannot let it rest.

'He wasn't doing anything I hadn't invited him to. I was letting him fuck me so he'd allow me to copy the map.' Rhys doesn't look at Duncan, his tone as expressionless as his face. 

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and Duncan is at a loss for words. He never even considered this. Especially now that he knows how much Rhys hated having sex with him.

'Oh.' Duncan's thoughts race but slip through his grasp every time he tries to hold on to one.

The silence stretches until Rhys lies down and rolls over under his blanket, leaving Duncan to stand guard, alone with his thoughts. The night is very cold.

It breaks out of Duncan the next morning over breakfast, all his confusion and regret and helplessness. Everything that has been churning in his stomach the whole night. Rhys has heard him pace, back and forth, for his whole watch.

'Finding this settlement is that important to you?' Duncan watches Rhys from under his eyelashes.

'Yes. It is. But what you really want to know is why I fucked Deadtoes for the map behind your back, don't you.' Rhys keeps his tone gentle, and Duncan just nods in reply.

'I'm used to trading sex for things. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to make you angry, but I have been doing it for supplies and water for us, too. So we'd always have enough and you wouldn't decide we needed to go back to bounty hunting again.' Rhys still has the gentle tone, but his words visibly cut into Duncan like shards of glass.

'I wouldn't— Fuck. Okay. So you are fine with fucking some stranger for a canister of Aqua Cola, but when I take you up on your _offer_ , you hate me for it?' Duncan's voice rises into a shout, anguish and anger making his control slip.

Rhys' head snaps up and he glares at Duncan, his hands gripping his bowl so hard his knuckles turn white.

He swallows the angry replies jostling for space on his tongue, and takes a deep breath. Then another. Sets the bowl down and places his hands flat on his thighs.

'It's not that easy. When I fucked one of them, it was just a trade. No doubts about what was at stake. I fuck them, or they fuck me, they give me water. Or supplies. Or a map.' Rhys shrugs.

'When I fucked you, it was to keep you happy. To make you safe to be around. It was a gamble. One that I'm good at but might still lose. I was so scared, all the time.' Rhys closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at Duncan again who sits completely still, eyes fixed on Rhys. 

'After a while, I was less scared. You were— less volatile than most of my previous owners. And even though I didn't want to, I started to trust you. I let my guard down. And I started to enjoy fucking you.' There's a shaky, sad smile on Rhys' face and it hurts, much more than yelling at Duncan would. 

'I was disgusted by myself every time, but I couldn't help it. It felt good. I was eager for it at times, wanted the comfort your touch brought.' Rhys sucks down air in huge, shuddering gasps, fighting the tears that threaten to steal his voice. 

'I still want you. I cannot hate you.' He won't look at Duncan, doesn't want to see the hope on his face. 

'I cannot hate you. And for that, I hate myself. So much.' Rhys gives a heaving sob, can't get enough air to say anything more. His head hurts and so does his heart. Guilt, shame and rage twist his guts so hard he retches, falling forward on his hands and knees.

Duncan's hand on his arm makes Rhys flinch, and his first instinct is to swat it away, yell at Duncan. Maybe even fight.

He looks up to snarl at Duncan, but his rage slinks away at the sight of Duncan's fear. Duncan is so clearly frightened that Rhys will attack, so much so that his hand shakes. But he still tries to offer comfort, in the only way he knows.

Rhys doesn't have the heart not to take it. Doesn't want to see more crushed hope on Duncan's face. And he is too exhausted to fight his own longing.

So he covers Duncan's hand with his own. Duncan stays very still, barely breathing. Like he is taming a wild animal, one that might bite. It's not so far from the truth.

Rhys moves closer and Duncan wraps him in a clumsy hug. Not holding him tight, not until Rhys throws his arms around him and hides his face against Duncan's neck. 

They sit like this for a long time, neither of them daring to let go. Neither of them has any idea what they should do now, how to go on. And so they sit, clinging to each other tightly as the day warms up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content info:  
> discussion of rape and abuse


	17. Noxious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Look. Down there.' Duncan hands Rhys a pair of binoculars and points. It would have been almost invisible for a human in the twilight of dusk, but for orkish eyes, the fenced in compound nestled between the hills is clearly visible._  
>  A destination reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noxious: harmful or deadly

'Wake up.'

Dazed and tired, Rhys blinks in the early morning light. The hills in the distance are stark shapes against the molten gold of the sunrise.

They had set out well before first light, eager to reach their destination as the map showed it. But Rhys has fallen back asleep, exhausted from standing guard for a large part of the night.

Duncan's hand on his arm, gently shaking him awake, is no longer something to be afraid of or angry at. He has taken to touching Rhys at times. It's just casually and never intimately, and Rhys lets him. Touch has become a part of their days, and their nights, and the distance between them has begun to melt.

'Look. Down there.' Duncan hands Rhys a pair of binoculars and points. It would have been almost invisible for a human in the twilight of dusk, but for orkish eyes, the fenced in compound nestled between the hills is clearly visible.

There is no light, and no one outside, but inside the perimeter are several flat buildings the colour of the surrounding sand. Behind them, a path leads up into the hills and to another well camouflaged hut. A lookout.

The buildings look old. Windows covered by tarps, sturdy doors from Before. The fence is not that high, but enough to clearly get the point across that these people do not wish visitors. 

'Want to leave the car here?' Duncan's tone makes it clear how little he thinks of that idea.

'No. We don't want to sneak up on them. Let's drive down and see what there is to see.' Rhys fidgets in his seat, his stomach turning somersaults with excitement and dread.

It takes them long enough to find a path down to the settlement that the sun has risen over the hills by the time they get there. Long shadows stripe the ground from every boulder and crippled bush.

It is quiet and once they both have gotten out of the truck, there is no sound but the wind and the whisper-quiet crunch of their steps on the sand and gravel. 

'I don't like this.' Duncan's hand is on his gun, and he steps in front of Rhys. 'They can't be that afraid of us.'

In front of the gate, Rhys stops. Up close, the buildings show neglect. Sand has gathered in the doorways, the door to the main building is half open and tarps are coming loose.

'Wait. Don't do anything yet.' Rhys concentrates and conjures up a tiny bear on his palm. It sits and looks up at him and he gives it a quick scritch between the ears with one finger. 'Check the buildings and then come back to me. Find out if there are any humans or orks in there.' 

With a quiet _pop_ , the bear vanishes into thin air again. Rhys turns to find Duncan staring at him.

'You can do that? Do you need to be this close or could you have done that from up there?' Duncan points up to where they came from with his chin, hand never leaving the weapon and eyes right back on the compound.

'I— I could have done it from up there. Yes. I'm not used to solving problems with magic! Can we discuss this another time, please?' Rhys is too anxious to be angry. Besides, Duncan is right. This has been an unnecessary risk. 

'Sure.' Duncan takes a deep breath, scanning the buildings and hills. 'Does it take long?'

Before Rhys can answer, the connection to the little bear tears off, yanked out of his mind. 

'It's gone—' Rhys shakes himself, unsettled and jumpy. 'Someone killed it. Or something.'

'Fuck.' Duncan draws his gun. 'Right. No sense in standing around out here. Come on.'

'Wait a moment.' Rhys calls for Artrí, asks him to remain invisible for now. And he casts a spell to make them not quite invisible but hard to notice, explains what he did in a whisper to Duncan. He once again gets a disbelieving stare from Duncan, but it really is not the time for a discussion about magic.

They push open the gate. It moves on gritted hinges, unwilling to open. The distance to the main building seems to stretch, and Rhys' skin prickles. He jumps when he sees movement, but it's just a piece of tarp flapping in the wind. 

Duncan moves fast, crossing the distance in loping strides. A predator gearing up for an attack. Hurrying to keep up, Rhys pushes open the door at Duncan's signal. They move in a practised dance from room to room, watching each other's back. 

There's nothing but sand in the first, small building, just three empty rooms. The building behind it has wide open doors and blackened walls. The taste of soot lays itself thickly on Rhys' tongue. It's dark inside, even for their eyes, and Rhys has to force himself to follow Duncan in.

It's a big room and the fire has eaten it up, leaving only soot and shadows. Rhys is shivering with nerves, He wants to run but he cannot move. Artrí gives a pitiful moan. He tugs hard on Rhys' thoughts, begging to be let go.

Opening his mind to his astral sense, Rhys blinks away from the normal world. A strangling net of black snares pounces on him, tangles up his mind and tears into it. The black sinks into him, eats away at his self, screeching and yowling. Blindly, Rhys turns and catches a last glance of Duncan's bright green aura before the black swallows it all.

Duncan has hunkered down to examine a glint in the sand that turns out to be a shell casing. Behind him, Rhys suddenly gasps and Duncan is on his feet, gun at the ready. 

Rhys is on all fours, fingers clawing into the ground. He arches his neck back painfully far, tendons standing out, eyes wide and unfocused. 

By the time Duncan reaches him. Rhys has toppled over on his side. He's limp when Duncan picks him up, dead weight. There's no reaction to Duncan's touch or his frantic questions. Rhys only shivers all over and it gets stronger by the second, until his whole body convulses.

When Duncan grabs him to hold him, to keep him from hurting himself, Rhys screams. The sharp edge of utter panic in his voice slices through the last of Duncan's calm.

Acting on instinct, Duncan picks Rhys up and throws him over his shoulder. Staggering under Rhys' weight and unbalanced by Rhys' uncontrolled writhing, Duncan runs for the door. Get out, that's all he can think. Get _Rhys_ out of here.

Outside, Rhys goes limp almost the moment they have crossed the threshold. Duncan puts some more distance between them and the building before going down on one knee, gently laying Rhys down to cradle him in his lap.

Rhys seems to have passed out, head lolling and limbs heavy. But he's breathing at an even pace, and his pulse slows down. There are no more convulsions or shivers. Duncan brushes a few strands of hair out of Rhys' face, his hands shaking badly. 

'Rhys? Please, wake up?' His voice is barely more than a whisper. 'Please.'

Nothing happens. Duncan can't get enough air, gulps it down in huge gasps. Gripping Rhys tighter, he gives him a shake. Rhys' head falls back and Duncan can see the white under his half-closed eyelids. The way Rhys hangs in his arms terrifies Duncan. He shakes Rhys again, harder. Blood starts trickling from Rhys' nose, shockingly bright on his pale skin.

'You can't do that!' Duncan curls his fingers in Rhys' shirt, buries his face in Rhys' hair, eyes squeezed shut.

'—can't breathe—' Rhys' voice is just a mumble. He struggles weakly in Duncan's hold.

Easing his death grip on Rhys, relief washes over Duncan in a flood. He gives a shaky laugh and touches Rhys' face, a soft caress hastily turned into wiping away the trickle of blood.

'I thought- What happened?'

With his help, Rhys sits up. Shoulders slumped and still leaning against Duncan, Rhys nods in the direction of the open door but doesn't look at it.

'Something horrible happened in there. It's still imprinted in everything, in the walls and the air and the ground. It was like— like having acid thrown at me. It burned and tore and ravaged me. I couldn't fight it.' With a shudder, Rhys falls silent.

'You collapsed. And then you had some sort of— I don't know. You started shaking really badly. Didn't know what else to do, so I carried you out. It stopped.' Duncan wants to hug Rhys to himself again, keep him close. But he doubts Rhys would welcome that.

'I can feel it, even here. I couldn't tell when we went in, but it's a bad place. We shouldn't stay here. There's nothing for us.' Rhys' voice is so quiet, Duncan has to lean forward to understand him.

He rears back in surprise and dismay. 'We can't just _leave_! I want to know what happened at least. If there are any traces. Some hint where everyone _is_.' Duncan can't give this up so easily.

'They are dead. I heard them die. Please, I can't go in there again.' The slight quiver of Rhys' body gets worse, builds into a continuous tremor.

'I'm not asking you to. But I need to know. Are you—' Duncan stops himself. 'No. Let's go back to the truck. You need some rest. And then I'll go check.'

Rhys only nods and leans on Duncan as they walk back. When he's curled up in the back of the truck, he grabs Duncan's hand. 'Don't go while I sleep? Stay here. Please?'

'—sure. I will.' Duncan wants to back out of the truck, but Rhys pulls on his hand. 

'Can you sit with me?' Propped up on his elbow, Rhys' gaze is just as pleading as his tone, his eyes wide, dark circles of exhaustion under them.

For a moment, Duncan wonders if he is being played. If this is all manipulation. But he does know what real fear looks like from Rhys, and this is it.

He climbs into the back of the truck and leans against the front seat, where they have converted the floor space into storage compartments. Rhys lies next to him, awkward and cramped in what little space they have for sleeping. 

They haven't shared it since they started on this journey, Duncan usually sleeps outside or on the front seat. It's not made to fit them both if they want to avoid touching.

Finally, Rhys gives up and nestles into Duncan, his back against Duncan's leg. He falls asleep and Duncan sits. Keeps watch and doesn't dare to move. If he moves, Rhys might wake up and decide he wants to be alone after all.

Rhys dreams, twitching and keening in his sleep. He turns over and throws an arm over Duncan's legs, lies still again with a sigh. 

His heart beating out of his chest, Duncan puts his hand over Rhys', just the slightest touch. And Rhys holds on to him in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content info:  
> panic attack, or something like it
> 
> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)


	18. Dessication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Against Duncan's protests, Rhys had tried to go once he had rested. This time, he had made it out while still conscious, but barely. Death and terror have polluted the place, turned the very air into poison._  
>  _So Duncan goes in alone, ducks into the wide open door and is swallowed by the darkness inside._  
>  Further exploration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dessication: the state of being dry

Rhys watches Duncan walk towards the building, shadow dancing long in front of him. He moves carefully, watchful and tense, even though nothing lives here. Rhys is sure of that. But he is glad Duncan doesn't take this lightly anyway.

Sitting on the hood of their truck, Rhys wishes he could go with Duncan. He knows Duncan can protect himself, but he also knows if something happens in there, he cannot help him.

Against Duncan's protests, Rhys had tried to go once he had rested. This time, he had made it out while still conscious, but barely. Death and terror have polluted the place, turned the very air into poison.

So Duncan goes in alone, ducks into the wide open door and is swallowed by the darkness inside.

Time crawls by. Shadows grow longer. A few crickets start to sing, a lizard scuttles by in search of a meal. 

Rhys paces in front of the truck, Calls Duncan's name. Calls again. There's nothing, no answer and no movement.

Rhys starts pacing again.

Duncan blinks in the sudden, sweltering dark of the building. His eyes sweep the room, which must have been some kind of communal area. Maybe they had had meals here together. There are bold shapes painted on the walls in ochre, white and black, maybe supposed to brighten the room a little. Now, they are blackened by soot, silenced like the rest of the place.

On his way to the back, where a door leads to another part of the compound, Duncan stumbles. He catches himself and kicks the sand, encounters something hard. Kneeling down, he brushes sand aside until his fingers have found a thick metal ring. He pulls, careful not to stand in front of the trapdoor opened by it.

When nothing attacks, or even moves, Duncan climbs down, using his crank lantern for light. Even for his eyes, it's too dark otherwise. After the heat outside, it's cool down here.

It takes a moment for his mind to make sense of the bundles scattered all around the room. Some all huddled together, some alone. Some hunched in corners, some stretched out where they fell, trying to run. Not understanding they were trapped.

The desert heat has dried them to husks. Flesh, muscle and skin like dry leaves, clinging to their bones. But it has also preserved them. Duncan can see the fear and anguish in their poses. Families all cowered together, parents curled around their children to protect them.

Every step stirs up fine sand and heavy shell casings. Duncan's breathing and the clink of the shells are the only sounds down here. 

He goes from one body to the next. He wants to stop, to leave. But they demand to be witnessed. 

They are orks. All have tusks, starkly visible in their shrunken faces. Some of them have horns. Duncan assumes they were trolls. In life, they had been giants. More massive even than Graveltooth, and much bigger than Duncan. Now, they are curled up and small.

Duncan searches them. He hates doing it. It sits heavily in his chest, choking him, even though he has been a scavenger and looter of the dead many times. 

This is different.

But he needs to know, to make sure there are no hints to follow. They must have run down here for shelter and trapped themselves. Duncan tries not to think about how it must have been. He knows the fire and smoke didn't kill them. They all have been shot; the holes in skulls and the splintered rib cages on some of them speak of it. The fire came later, he thinks. An afterthought, out of fear or malice by whoever killed them.

There's nothing left.

He climbs up, closing the trapdoor behind him and kicks sand over it again. Then he follows the door into the next area, fleeing the presence of the dead.

The last building seems to have been their living quarters. All tossed and looted already. Duncan searches them anyway. He's meticulous, going through every room. 

There's not much to search. Whoever did this took what they wanted, and other scavengers took the rest. Duncan does find a necklace buried in the sand, with a huge broken tusk as a pendant. It's not a trophy— it's wrapped carefully in wire and polished lovingly. A thing to remember someone by. Or something. Maybe the owner of the tusk made it himself. It weighs heavy in Duncan's hand, and he pockets it.

Duncan moves on. In another room, there is a little mound of sand in one corner. Sweeping it aside, Duncan finds a bundle of cloth.

Inside is a wordburger. A fat one, pages sewn together between a cloth and leather cover. Duncan sits back on his haunches and opens it slowly, as if it might bite him. 

There are words inside.

He huffs a laugh. What else did he expect? The letters tell him nothing, but Rhys will be able to make sense of them.

When he steps out into the open again, the sun has almost set. Duncan has lost track of time, and he hurries back.

Rhys takes a few quick steps towards him, relief clear on his face. He stops short, draws in on himself, his hands folded in front of him. It stings Duncan. He wants nothing so badly as to hug Rhys, make sure this is real and Rhys isn't going anywhere. 

'I'm sorry. Didn't mean to leave you so long.' Duncan doesn't know how to tell Rhys what he has found. 

'Are they all dead?' There's a little hope in Rhys' voice and Duncan would give anything not to have to crush it. 

'Yes. Someone killed them. Shot them. I don't know why.'

Rhys leans against the truck, the desert wind blowing his hair into his face. He stares past Duncan at the settlement, face unmoving. 'Maybe people were afraid. They were different, that's enough. Even Before, it happened. I've read about it. Orks and trolls rounded up and killed, burned alive.'

Duncan wants to pull Rhys close and hold him, tell him that he will never let anything happen to him. Instead, he holds out the wordburger and the tusk necklace. 'I found this.'

Rhys takes both, eager curiosity shouldering aside the bitterness. It's closely followed by disappointment as he leaves through the pages.

'I can't read this. I can read the letters, but I don't know the language.' He traces the letters, handwritten yet clear. 'It's something, at least. Maybe there are others. Maybe some of them got out. And maybe this will help us find them.'

Rhys hugs the book to himself, runs a finger over the smooth surface of the tusk down to its point. He looks up at Duncan with a soft smile, fragile hope trying to stay afloat in a storm of disappointment. 'Thank you. For finding this, and for coming with me.'

'I wish we had found something else. A place for you to live without having to hide.' Duncan takes one last look at the place and can't help but shudder at the loneliness of it all. 

'I don't want to spend the night here. Let's go up into the hills again. Think about what's next tomorrow.' Duncan wants to leave, never think about this place again. 

Rhys nods and quickly brushes his fingertips over Duncan's hand, leaving him breathless. 'Yes. Let's move. There is nothing here for us.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> Content Info:  
> past mass murder/mass shooting


	19. Saltation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Joining Duncan up on the hill, Rhys offers him a blanket. They both sit and look down at the valley below, full of shadows. Somewhere far off, there's thunder, but not close enough to be threatening. Lighting flares at the horizon at long intervals, makes huge towering clouds visible before they disappear into the night again._  
>  Fleeing the dead, Duncan and Rhys look for new goals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saltation: a sudden and marked change

Rhys has been pondering the book by the light of the moon all night. It's bright enough to read by even without being an ork, and it's the sort of night Rhys normally loves. Cold, but good to drive in, or walk.

Which is what Duncan is doing. Never out of sight, but he paces the hillside. Sits down next to some bushes on top and looks out over the valley with the settlement. Gets up again, comes to check on Rhys.

He is full of nervous energy, while Rhys is almost paralysed.

Even trying not to put too much hope into this, Rhys limbs and heart are heavy with disappointment and grief. Duncan has told him exactly what he has seen, and Rhys wants to cry.

Maybe there had been a reason for this. Just because they had been orks doesn't mean they had been good people. But Rhys cannot think of a reason to wipe out so many people, and he doesn't care to try.

Such a waste. All these people, killed out of hatred and fear. 

Such a waste, to come here and find only death.

But Rhys has no desire to find their own deaths here as well, and neither has Duncan.

Joining Duncan up on the hill, Rhys offers him a blanket. They both sit and look down at the valley below, full of shadows. Somewhere far off, there's thunder, but not close enough to be threatening. Lighting flares at the horizon at long intervals, makes huge towering clouds visible before they disappear into the night again. 

Rhys longs for the smell of rain. He has only smelled it a couple of times in his life, and it's the smell of hope to him. Something he desperately is in need of right now.

'What do we do now?' Rhys hopes Duncan has an answer. He is all out of them, his mind as empty as the Wastes. He just knows he wants to leave.

Duncan shrugs. 'I don't know. Go back. Scavenge. Survive. Try to find someone who speaks the language in the wordburger.'

His voice is low, and Rhys notices how he slumps forward, hunched under his blanket. The way he rubs his forehead and temple, like he has a headache. Duncan is exhausted, he is just good at hiding it.

Rhys sits and thinks about how comforting Duncan's presence was for him earlier. How comforting it still is.

Being out here is terrifying, but with Duncan it is bearable. Rhys trusts him, in some ways. He trusts Duncan to keep them safe, and to do what he believes is best for them. And he trusts Duncan to stop and listen when Rhys has something to say. He might not _like_ what Rhys has to say, but he’ll listen. By now Rhys is convinced Duncan truly wants a partnership for them. They just need to find the right shape for it.

With a sigh, Rhys leans into Duncan. It surprises a small noise out of Duncan, a quiet gasp, and he tenses up.

Rhys turns his face against Duncan's shoulder, blinding himself to their surroundings. Duncan smells of leather and skin musk. It's not the smell of hope, but it's the smell of safety.

'Let's leave. Go back now. Drive as far as we can tonight, hunker down somewhere for the worst of the heat. I don't want to stay here, where I can see and feel this place. It's a tomb.' Rhys speaks into Duncan's arm, and very slowly Duncan wraps it around him and gives him a squeeze.

'Let's go, then.'

Driving the truck, Duncan picks his way back to the canyons from memory. He's glad they are on the move. That they have a goal again. Even if it's only going back to their scavenger lives, fighting for every scrap and every day. 

His arm is hot where Rhys had leaned into it, as if Rhys' warmth has sunk into it to stay. Duncan hadn't dared to move, and it had been over quickly. But when he closes his eyes, even for a moment, it's all right there. The cold night air. The last traces of heat from the stones below. The scratchy blanket around them. And Rhys, leaning into him, bringing the sweet scent of incense.

Now, Rhys is huddled on the front seat next to him, one knee drawn up and his arms wrapped around it. He no longer touches Duncan, but there's not as much distance between them as there used to be.

'What is a tomb?' Duncan asks to hear Rhys' voice. And because he knows Rhys likes to explain things. Just as Duncan enjoys learning from him.

'It's a burial site. A sort of building, just for dead bodies. A place to remind people of those who died.' Rhys watches the desert pass by as he speaks.

'People did weird things. All that work, just for dead bodies? The dead are dead. They want nothing.' Duncan shakes his head. He cannot imagine living in the Before. Although some things sound nice. Like running water, and shopping malls. 

'It's not for the dead.' Rhys talks without looking at Duncan, but has unfurled a bit. 'It's for the living. For comfort. To hold on to the dead and their memory. And to hope that they won't be forgotten, either. You took that tusk. You have no use for it, but you took it. To remember.'

Duncan touches the tusk in his pocket, as if Rhys has caught him doing something wrong. 'I guess. Yeah. You're right.'

He thinks it over some more. 'Still. A whole house, just for a dead person? I can't imagine.'

When they stop in the shelter of a rock overhang, it's well past dawn. They set up camp, with a tarp as a lean-to from the truck, protecting them from the worst of the sun. Neither of them feels safe enough to not stand guard, and Rhys takes the first watch.

He sits, lost in thought. A small watcher bear patrols around the camp, sure to alert Rhys to anything that moves. Next to him, Duncan is sprawled out on his bedroll, sleeping on his back, arms and legs thrown out. Rhys smiles a little - Duncan always stole blankets and space when they were still sharing their bedrolls.

Reaching out slowly, he touches Duncan's arm, traces his fingertips over Duncan's arm. When he reaches the palm, Duncan's fingers close around his.

Rhys sits completely still and tries to figure out how to feel about it.

About all of it.

He has sought comfort with Duncan, and has been given it. Duncan hasn't asked for anything in return. He is so obviously and almost pathetically happy about every single touch from Rhys. It's frightening.

And it has a strong pull. Give in, let Duncan take care of him. Stop worrying about things. Just drift along. As a slave no longer, not that. But Duncan would gladly protect him and make decisions if Rhys asked him. Rhys yearns for that safety and comfort. 

Guilt still has sunk its teeth into him and won't let go. 

_He treated you like a thing! Took whatever he wanted! And now you want to go crawling back to him?_

Rhys has no good answer for the voice in his head. He sits, one hand in Duncan's, staring at the shifting sands driven by gusts of wind. Longing and guilt tear him apart and he cannot fight back, paralysed by choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Info:  
> some self-hate
> 
> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)


	20. Coalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'I'm lost.' Rhys barely whispers, his voice gone. 'I'm drifting, and it's cold, and it hurts. Please hold me?'_  
>  Rhys wants, and Duncan gives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coalescence: the merging of two segments into one

Back in the labyrinth of small canyons, Duncan and Rhys settle down in a protected corner that holds the heat of the day. They haven't talked much since leaving the ork settlement. Rhys struggles to find words, or anything that he even wants to talk about. The thought of going back to their old life weighs on him, sits heavily on his chest. 

He doesn't want this. But what else is there?

Duncan has spread their bedrolls between the truck and the canyon wall, but at some distance. The way they always sleep now. Together, but apart.

A sudden wave of cold loneliness sweeps over Rhys at the sight. It's just the two of them, and out there it's only the Wasteland.

With Duncan already settled down for the night, and a Watcher spirit patrolling the camp, Rhys goes to lie down. The chill of loneliness only grows stronger, and Duncan is right there.

With a noise that is almost a whimper, Rhys drags his bedroll over to him.

The look on Duncan's face is full of hope, treading water in rapidly rising panic. 'What—'

'I'm lost.' Rhys barely whispers, his voice gone. 'I'm drifting, and it's cold, and it hurts. Please hold me?'

Duncan doesn't move for a second. Rhys is about to retreat when he holds up his blanket. 'Come here.'

Nestling into Duncan, Rhys tries to settle down. Slowly, Duncan wraps his arms around him and Rhys fights a moment of fear. He breathes through it, and focuses on the comfort of Duncan's warmth. His smell is strong in Rhys' nose, musk and gun oil and leather, and his heart beats loud as a drum when Rhys puts his head against his chest.

For a while, they lie there, their breath warm between them. Duncan has his eyes closed and is breathing slowly, but he is just a little too tense to be truly asleep. His hand rests on Rhys' back, fingers splayed, his arm heavy on Rhys' side.

It helps with the loneliness, a little. At the same time, it awakens a fierce hunger in Rhys, a longing for— more. More warmth. More connection. More intimacy.

In a sudden movement, Rhys rolls and pushes Duncan over on his back. Duncan sucks down a startled breath, his eyes flying open and his hands raised in a gesture of defence. Rhys gently takes them and pushes them down on either side of Duncan's head. His weight rests on them as he bends down to nose at Duncan's neck, breathing in his scent.

He sits back up and looks at Duncan, letting go of his wrists. 'I want you.'

'But—'

'Please. Let me have this. I truly want it.'

Duncan stares at him, fear and doubt and naked desire warring on his face. The desire overrules everything, and he moves to push a hand under Rhys' shirt.

They undress each other, hands pulling at clothes, limbs getting stuck in sleeves and pants in their haste. The contents of Duncan's backpack are spilled all over the sand in the frantic search for the lube can.

There is a sudden pause when they are both naked, Rhys once again straddling Duncan. They look at each other, both holding their breath and not knowing how to go on.

Rhys shifts, Duncan's hard cock pressing against his ass. He is frightened by what he wants, but he won't give it up.

Moving down, he pushes Duncan's legs apart until he kneels between them. Duncan opens them willingly but he looks just as scared as Rhys feels.

For a moment, Rhys just sits, runs his hands over Duncan's body and takes it all in. All the scars littering Duncan's chest and stomach, his arms. One digs into his flesh from his knee to his thigh— a series of dimples that Rhys knows come from getting stuck in barbed wire. Other scars are from knives, or other weapons people thought might protect them against Duncan, or might even kill him. 

Duncan is still here. The people wielding the weapons are not.

For the first time, Rhys wonders just how many scars Duncan is carrying he cannot see, and if they are less painful than Rhys' own.

He reaches up to caress Duncan's face, runs his fingers over the stubble on his head and into the soft, thick hair of Duncan's mohawk.

'I won't hurt you. I'll go slow.' Rhys bends down to kiss Duncan.

Duncan answers the kiss, suddenly breathless. Rhys' eyes are dark with lust, and his skin seems to shine in the moonlight. The tattoos shift and dance with every move, and Rhys' braid has fallen over his shoulder, tickling at Duncan's chest.

He has been so overwhelmed by the unexpected intimacy that he hasn't stopped to think about what Rhys actually wants.

And what Rhys very obviously wants, fingers already brushing over Duncan's entrance, is something Duncan has never allowed anyone to have. He wants to give it to Rhys. He would give Rhys anything he asks for if it means having him close like this.

Duncan tries to relax, closing his eyes to focus on what Rhys is doing. It only makes him more vulnerable, and he opens his eyes again. Clutching the blanket under him, Duncan bites his lip and watches Rhys. The look of concentration and need on Rhys' face transfixes Duncan, and he cannot look away.

Tracing his fingers over Duncan's hole, Rhys spreads lube all over it, his other hand caressing Duncan's thighs and balls. He pushes one finger into Duncan, slowly and gently, allowing him time to get used to it.

Already, the pressure and stretch is intense and Duncan gives a quiet whimper. He cannot imagine taking Rhys that way. 

Of course he knows he can. But everything is happening so damn fast, and knowing that he can and being ready for it are two very different things.

Suddenly, the stretch gets worse and Duncan groans, bites his tongue hard not to cry out in shock. It's not painful, but it's not pleasant either. He has no idea if it will _be_ pleasant. All the times he just took Rhys, and he never stopped to think about that. He used to be confident in the belief that Rhys enjoys it and gets pleasure from it.

What if it's always like this?

Duncan sucks down a breath, realising he has been holding it. And another one when the first one does nothing to fill his lungs.

The fingers in his ass push deeper, and then they are gone. Rhys is leaning over him.

'I promise I won't hurt you, and I'll go slow. But you need to breathe.'

Duncan nods, cannot find his voice. Rhys waits and softly caresses Duncan's face and chest.

After a while, Duncan's breathing has returned to normal, his heart no longer speeding away. He takes Rhys' hand and kisses his palm. 

'Okay. I think— I'm okay, try again.'

He cannot stop the shudder that runs over him when Rhys sits between his legs again, but he offers himself up anyway.

Rhys' fingers open him up and it's a little easier, but still not pleasant. It leaves Duncan struggling to breathe, but he bears down on Rhys' fingers until they are inside him all the way, knuckles pressed against Duncan's ass. When Rhys pulls back, and fucks his fingers back into Duncan, it pulls a loud moan from Duncan and sends the first spike of pleasure up his spine. 

'Please, take me.' Duncan wants it, and he wants to get it over with at the same time.

Rhys obviously is done waiting as well. He pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock with more lube, stroking it. Duncan's heart speeds up at the sight. He has never before really noticed how long it is. 

Setting himself against Duncan, Rhys pushes in. His cock slips past Duncan's rim easily, stretching him. With a soft cry, Duncan grabs the blanket and focuses on breathing.

Showing more patience than Duncan ever had, Rhys fucks into him in small thrusts until he is sheathed. He runs his fingers over Duncan's cheek, cups his face in his hand. It's such a soft touch, and Rhys looks at him with such longing that Duncan forgets about his fears of pain and not being able to endure this.

He rolls his hips against Rhys, fucking himself on Rhys' cock in a hesitant rhythm that gradually picks up speed. The stretch is still unsettling, and it presses down in places Duncan isn't used to, fills him up. But he wants it. He wants Rhys. He wants Rhys to look at him like this, wants to please him and make him happy. It's worth a little fear and discomfort.

Rhys is crouched over him on his hands and knees, lost in the pleasure of Duncan giving him what he wants.

Reaching up, Duncan cups Rhys' face, ghosts his thumb over Rhys' lips and cheekbones. He freezes when Rhys looks into his eyes, sure he has done too far.

But Rhys only smiles, and Duncan's heart aches at the softness of it. Rhys kisses him again, softness turning to hunger and revealing sharp fangs in the smile. They cut into Duncan's lip, and Duncan doesn't care.

He throws his arms out for balance when Rhys grabs his hips and pulls him close. With a hard thrust, Rhys buries himself to the hilt in Duncan and sets an urgent pace. His cock drives into Duncan over and over again, knocking the air out of his lungs, leaving him helpless.

Stretched around Rhys, every little ridge on Rhys' cock sends a jolt of pleasure through Duncan. He doesn't mind the way it fills him any more.

Rhys grabs Duncan's wrist and pulls his hand down. 'Touch yourself. Come while I fuck you.'

Duncan doesn't need to be told twice. Legs wrapped around Rhys' waist, he starts to stroke himself, in what little space he has between them. Every thrust into his ass almost folds him in half with Rhys weight behind it, pushes him over the blanket.

Fingers curled around his shaft, thumb teasing the head, Duncan chases his release. Rhys grabs him, crouched over him with his head buried against Duncan's neck and snaps his hips forward again and again.

Duncan cries out, arching up under Rhys. Hot cum spurts from between his fingers, slicking up their bellies where they are pressed into each other. Rhys' fingers dig into Duncan's arms and shoulders and he fucks himself to his orgasm with a few more long thrusts. His shout is muffled by Duncan's neck, and he collapses on top of him, heavy and limp.

They lie until they have caught their breath, and start to shiver in the cool night air.

Cleanup is silent, and awkward. They don't look at each other except in covert glances. They hand each other clothes and wipe away the cum left on their bodies. They pack everything into the car, leaving only their bedrolls.

Duncan's thoughts race and he tries to come up with something to say. He doesn't want this to have been all there is. Doesn't want to sleep alone, cold and miserable and lonely. Not with Rhys right there.

'Do you— Would you like to sleep here with me?' Rhys sits on his bedroll and pats the blanket. A few strands of hair have escaped his braid, falling into his face, and he looks tired and soft. Duncan has never seen anything more precious.

'Yes!' Duncan clears his throat, and slowly drags his bedroll over to Rhys. 'Yes. I would like that a lot.'

They curl up together, Rhys nestled into Duncan's arm. He has his back pressed against Duncan's chest, and Duncan can press his nose into his hair.

Duncan falls asleep smelling the sweet scent of Rhys' hair and with a fierce happiness lifting up his heart.

When Rhys wakes up, Duncan is still next to him, one arm slung over his chest. For a while, Rhys just lies on his back and watches the clouds drift overhead, painted pink by the first sunlight.

It would be nice to drift like that, Rhys thinks. Not to struggle every day just to live. And not to care about anything, or anyone. Not even about himself. He wishes he could do that.

Turning to Duncan, Rhys gives a sigh. He sought his comfort in Duncan out of loneliness and desperation. Duncan had been just as eager to give it.

The memory of Duncan under him, tense and frightened, comes back to Rhys in a clarity that the actual moment had lacked, his minded clouded by lust at the time.

Rhys had been in that position so many times. In that ugly space of wanting and dreading, of need and disgust. And now, on the other side of it, he hadn't wasted a thought of Duncan's feelings just because he hadn't _said_ no. 

Duncan stirs and mumbles, moving closer to Rhys. Nuzzling at Rhys' neck, he gives him a tender kiss to the jaw and Rhys wants to cry with shame. 

All of a sudden, Duncan's arm across his chest is too heavy. Rhys sits up, rolls out of their nest of blankets.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rhys can see the smile on Duncan's face shrivel and die. It gets buried by confusion and worry. And those quickly fuse into outright fear as Rhys stands and throws his cloak around himself.

'What's wrong?' Duncan's voice is gentle and quiet. He hasn't moved and sits with a piece of blanket in his hands, kneading it.

'Nothing. I'm fine. I just think we should move. Make it as far as we can before it gets really hot.' Rhys turns to him and tries to smile. Lying to someone is so much harder when you care for them. The words are ashes in his mouth.

From the look on Duncan's face, he doesn't believe any of them. But he gets up and starts rolling up their bedding, keeps sneaking worried glances at Rhys.

Neither of them feel like breakfast, and so they drive in silence.

'Have I done anything wrong? Please, tell me.' Duncan's heart is running away in his chest. It's been days since they— since Rhys fucked him. And nothing has been right ever since.

Rhys is withdrawn. Sleeps outside. Takes care not to touch Duncan. Barely speaks.

Duncan doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He must have done _something_.

'I didn't— Did I pressure you? Made you feel you had to— be close to me? I didn't mean to.' Duncan just wants to know, so he can make it better.

Rhys looks at him, frozen in the act of unfurling his bedroll as they make camp. He sits down on it slowly, drops his gaze to his hands before raising his head again. 

'No. You didn't do anything wrong. But what we did— I can't. I just can't. It's better if we don't— have sex. For both of us.'

Duncan stares at him. 'But—'

He catches himself before he can _demand_ an explanation. Instead, he gently asks for it. 'I don't understand. I enjoyed it. Very much. And I thought you did, as well.'

'You were scared. And I didn't care. I just took what I wanted. I didn't even think to ask if we should stop.' Rhys speaks so softly, it's barely a whisper.

'I'd have said something if I really didn't want it.' Duncan says it quickly, doesn't think about it. Rhys only looks at him, and it forces Duncan to really consider his answer.

'You're right. I was nervous. Frightened, even. But I never had any doubt that you would stop if I asked for it. And I didn't want you to stop. I wanted you. I still do.'

Rhys sits and thinks about it. Duncan lets him, swallows down all the assurances and promises he wants to give. He knows it would only unsettle Rhys more.

'I don't know what to do. I can't tell if I'm lonely, or if I really want _you_.' Rhys gives a long, tired sigh. 

'You say you want me. That you love me. Maybe you do. And it makes you do things for me you wouldn't do otherwise. Just so I stay. So I will love you back. I don't know if that's so different from how we were before.' Wiping at his eyes, Rhys blinks back tears.

It makes Duncan want to hug him, to promise that everything will be alright. But that wouldn't solve anything.

'You're right. I'd do a lot of things for you. But I do have my limits. There's a difference between you trying to keep me happy at all costs because you were— a slave, and me doing things for you.' Duncan has never given this much thought before, not his side of things. He's navigating it as he speaks, slowly and carefully.

'I don't have a choice about being in love with you. But it doesn't make me your slave. And you don't treat me like one.' He reaches out to Rhys, and Rhys takes his hand. It gives Duncan the courage to continue.

'If you don't want to have sex, I can live with that. I do want it. But I want you to be happy even more. And I want us to be close, no matter what shape that takes.'

It gets a nod from Rhys, and a squeeze to his hand. After a long moment, Rhys comes to sit next to Duncan, leans into him and presses his face into Duncan's neck. He doesn't move away when Duncan pulls him into a gentle hug. Instead, he wraps his arms around Duncan and climbs into Duncan's lap, clings to him. 

When night falls, they curl up together, holding on to each other in the vast darkness of the Wastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaread by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> Content notes:  
> Smut  
> Dubcon


	21. Pyriscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is one of the good days, and Duncan cherishes it._  
>  A few good days in the Wasteland, and a decision driven by those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyriscence: plants releasing their seeds in response to fire

'Do you think we have enough?' 

Duncan drops the last of the wire they have scavenged from the half-buried road train into the box. A storm has uncovered it, and no one has gotten to it before them. They have spent half the night and the morning taking everything apart, loading into their truck what they can fit, and burying for later what they can't.

Rhys looks it over, wiping sweat off his brow and leaving dark smears. 'I think it's more than enough. It should get us the engine parts from the Woolies. If they still have them.'

Cramming the last of their finds into the truck, Duncan watches Rhys climb up into the road train's cabin one last time. They have gone back to their life of scavenging and roaming the Wastes. The balance between them is very carefully maintained.

There are days on end where Rhys barely speaks, but he lets Duncan know with touches and little gestures that it's not about him. Duncan is used to silence, and he respects Rhys' wish for it. He tries to cheer him up with little things. Asking Rhys about things. Having Rhys teach him to write and read. Food Rhys likes, seeds and plants Duncan spots. He has to fight against the harshness of the Wastes to do it, and often, it feels like a losing battle. But Duncan keeps trying.

This is one of the good days, and Duncan cherishes it.

On the road, Rhys tells him about what kind of cargo these road trains used to carry. This one had carried cattle, long since dead and crumbled into dust. Duncan had seen a cow, once, long ago. It had been bony and small, and he struggles to imagine the well-fed, meaty beasts Rhys describes.

'We could stay with the Woolies for a day or two, what do you think?' Rhys gives Duncan a smile, and it's more precious to him than all of their cargo.

'Yeah, let's. We've earned a bit of peace and quiet.' Duncan answers the smile, his heart beating faster. He has to watch himself not to speed on what passes for a road in his sudden eagerness to get there.

A couple of hours later, they arrive. The Woolies are busy digging their home out of the sand left behind by the storm. It's a giant stone sheep, and they will never again dig up more than the massive head, taller than three men. Everything else has been buried as long as Duncan can remember. 

He grins at a sudden half-forgotten image his brain throws up. 'You know, as a kid I used to think that sheep were actually that size. I had nightmares.'

Rhys' clear, unguarded laughter at this almost makes Duncan drive off the road, he's so busy committing the sight and sound of it to memory. It was worth remembering his childhood for, which is not something Duncan tends to do often. 

Their help with digging is welcome, and so are the spare parts and the wire. Rhys was right: it buys them the engine parts, use of tools and a workshop to change them out, and the use of a tin shack for a night. It's rickety and small, but Duncan doesn't mind. There's only one way out of that sheep, and he prefers walls he can kick down if he has to.

They have been offered a meal with the community, having provided some water and a handful of bush tomatoes for it. Afterwards, in the privacy of their shack, Duncan leans against the sun-warmed wall and watches Rhys take some notes in the wordburger he made to keep track of their barter.

'Do you think we should settle down? Go and see if one of the settlements will have us?' Duncan speaks slowly, the thought only just having occurred to him. 

Rhys looks up from his writing, eyes wide and reflecting the light of their lantern for a moment. The green shine is gone when he gets up and comes to sit next to Duncan.

'I don't know. It might be nice to have a home. But we don't know any settlement really well. Not well enough to join. I'm afraid of what we might have to give up.'

Duncan puts his arm around Rhys, runs his palm down his back. 'Yeah. I get it. We can keep it in mind? See if we might fit somewhere?'

A moment of silence, then Rhys gives a nod. 'Yes. We can do that. It would be nice not to drift any more. Maybe we should try to build up more than these casual connections with people."

There's a longing in Rhys' voice. He wants this more than he admits, maybe even to himself. Duncan knows him well enough by now to tell. But he doesn't push; he has his answer. 

Rhys leans into him, nuzzles at his neck. His breath tickles Duncan's skin, the tips of his tusks and fangs little pinpricks. By now, having Rhys this close isn't rare any more, but it's still something Duncan savours. He never initiates it, always lets Rhys make the first move. But he answers every touch with one of his own.

Often, they curl up with each other, petting and cuddling, until they fall asleep.

Today, Rhys comes to straddle Duncan. He pulls Duncan's shirt over his head and takes his face into both hands. 'I want you.'

It's a rare mood for Rhys, but they have been exploring and are more confident in each other by now. Just like with everything else, they have been building a habit of listening to each other and stopping to ask questions.

'You can have whatever you want.' Duncan can't raise his voice above a low murmur, he is so taken by the sight of Rhys. 

Dropping his shirt to the floor, Rhys sits back and explores, gives Duncan the opportunity to watch him. In the half-dark of their shack, Rhys' tattoos move on his skin, shift with his muscles. The jellyfish's tentacles seem to sway, the moth's wings to flutter.

Duncan reaches up to unwind Rhys' braid, carefully untangling the strands until the hair falls over Rhys' shoulders like pitch black sand, shifting in an unfelt breeze. Burying his hands in it, Duncan gives a moan at Rhys' touch.

Fingers trace over his arms, his sides, his stomach, following his muscles and his scars. Rhys bites his lip with one fang, his eyes half-closed, dark blue in the dim light.

He drops one hand between Duncan's legs and fumbles with the buttons of his pants. It nudges Duncan's cock in the most frustrating way, and he gives a whine, tipping his head back against the wall. 

All buttons opened, Rhys gets up and Duncan moves to help him pull the pants off. Rhys quickly drops his own, grabs the lube can and climbs on top of Duncan until he is straddling his thighs.

'Please touch me?' He takes Duncan's hand and places it on his thigh, leans forward until he can rest his head on Duncan's shoulder. 

Given permission, Duncan closes his eyes and goes on a journey. Running his hand down to Rhys' knee and up again, he marvels at how soft Rhys' skin is, with barely a hair. It's the same when he moves up to Rhys' groin. Duncan knows Rhys shaves, even spends some of his water on it. It's a private thing Duncan has never been allowed to see, and he realises he has no idea why Rhys goes through all that trouble, even in places where he isn't tattooed.

The question stashed away for later, Duncan sinks into the warmth of Rhys in his arms, his little sighs and shivers. Rhys' hand is curled in Duncan's mohawk, scritching gently at his scalp. When Duncan finds a particularly sensitive spot, Rhys grabs at his hair and whines.

Letting Rhys' sounds guide him, Duncan sets out to find all those spots. He keeps away from Rhys' cock and balls — that would be too easy. Duncan's fingers wander up Rhys' sides and to his neck, follow the line of his jaw. Rhys shudders when Duncan traces up the shell of his ear right to the tip, his breath warm against Duncan's neck.

There's the pinprick of tusks and fangs again, and now it's Duncan who shudders. With one hand still in Duncan's hair, Rhys closes the fingers of the other around Duncan's cock and gives it a gentle squeeze.

'Oh—' Duncan shifts and opens his legs wider, careful not to unseat Rhys.

Rhys' hand barely touches, fingertips ghosting over Duncan's skin. It leaves him ravenous for more.

Reaching down, Duncan takes Rhys in hand, answers the caresses with some of his own, equally light. It makes Rhys tense up but he immediately relaxes into Duncan again.

The lube can has rolled away and Duncan fishes for it, shares it with Rhys. The first touch of Rhys' slick fingers on his cock makes Duncan moan, loud and unabashed. It's echoed by Rhys, his cock hot and pulsing in Duncan's hand.

Their hands brush up against each other as they settle into a rhythm together, leisurely and tender. Rhys is the one who leads, showing Duncan what he wants by how he touches him.

Holding on to the other, with their heads leaning against each other's shoulders, they spend a long time just touching, gently stroking, licking, nibbling and kissing, breathing in their scent and their warmth.

Rhys speeds up, gripping Duncan's shaft more firmly, circling his thumb over the swollen head. Duncan does the same to him and they chase each other. Now it's Rhys who goes faster, then it's Duncan. Stroking harder, squeezing longer, biting instead of nipping, crying out instead of moaning.

Duncan pulls Rhys closer with one arm, and Rhys' hand fists painfully tight into his mohawk. Rhys thrusts his hips forward, bucking up against Duncan. Cum spills over Duncan's hand, shockingly hot. The sight of Rhys with his head thrown back, mouth open, fangs and tusks shown in a silent cry, it all pushes Duncan into his own orgasm. It slams into him like a runaway war rig, and he is torn away, all thought lost.

Later, they lie next to each other, under shared blankets. Duncan winds a strand of Rhys' hair around his finger. The small tugs on Rhys' scalp are pleasant and he slowly blinks, blissfully exhausted. 

'Can I ask you something? You don't need to answer.' Duncan sounds hesitant.

Rhys turns his head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He simply nods, rolling over and propping himself up on one elbow.

'Why do you shave? All over, I mean. I get shaving your face, and I shave my head obviously, but everything? I'm curious.'

Rhys stares at him. No one has ever asked him that. The most anyone has done was either praise or punish Rhys for it. It has always been either a selling point, or a waste of water to his owners. 

But then, Duncan isn't his owner.

'I like how it looks. I started when I got my first tattoo. It seemed the right thing to do. And like the tattoos, it was something I could decide about. I couldn't decide where to go, who to talk to, what to eat, when to sleep, or anything else for so long. But most of the time, I could decide about shaving at least. Even if it meant going thirsty sometimes. At least I had _chosen_ that.' 

Rhys gives a quiet laugh that turns into a sob. 'It's pathetic. But it's what I had.'

Duncan gives him a very careful hug, as if he is afraid Rhys will shatter if he squeezes too hard. It's not far from how Rhys feels, all fragile and shifting, and he is glad of the gentleness.

'I don't think it's pathetic. It's what helped you.' Duncan noses at Rhys' neck. 'I am sorry I never asked before.'

Rhys turns in Duncan's arms to face him again. Over the months, after returning from their journey, they have found a balance between them, Duncan has been mindful of not overstepping boundaries, and Rhys has been learning to say no. 

He is aware he still tends to leave decisions to Duncan. Out of habit, and because making decisions is terrifying. But Duncan makes sure he has at least asked and listened to Rhys' opinion before making the decision for them.

It allows them to talk about personal things like this, without fear or hidden motives. There is security in it, but of a different kind than Rhys ever has had before. More and more often, it is even enough to keep the sadness and emptiness at bay.

Tonight, Rhys is safe and warm and content. He smiles at Duncan and kisses him deeply. 'You did ask. No one ever did. I appreciate that.'

Nestling closer into Duncan, Rhys hides in his arms. He falls asleep without even noticing, Duncan's steady heartbeat in his ear.

'Have you been to the Shipyard lately?' The question is served together with breakfast by Crusher, the tiny woman who runs the Woolies clan. She sits down opposite Duncan and pulls the pitcher of water that bought breakfast towards her. Sheets of corrugated iron on a few poles make this the communal eating place, but most people are already out scavenging and working. The sheep's head looms above them, all dug out of the sand again. 

'No. Not for a while.' Duncan squints at the fried roaches and picks a couple of spiny legs out of the bowl while trying to remember how long it's been. 'Last time was, I don't know, two moons ago? Why?'

'I hear stuff. They've been having trouble. People getting sick, kids. Dying.' Crusher shrugs. 'I can't afford to send anyone right now, but if you're going in that direction, maybe you can see what's up. Take some stuff we want to trade, come back here after.'

It's not an unusual arrangement, they've done that for the Woolies before, and gotten paid for it. Duncan has known Crusher for a long time. He likes her. She doesn't take any shit, and she doesn't mess with people in return. 

He does not like the Shipyard. They have had dealings with them as bounty hunters, and had gone back once on a contract, the last one they ever did. The one where Rhys had set the slave, a young man called Rubbertoy, free. It hadn't gone over terribly well with the couple looking for their slave, but no money had changed hands yet and so it was settled easily, especially since another bounty hunter had delivered Rubbertoy. Afterwards, they have never been treated the same, though, and last time they were there, someone tried to steal seeds from Rhys. 

It had almost been a fight, and Rhys had been livid. The smell of ozone had hung in the air, heavy and burning, as Duncan had demanded the seeds back. They hadn't asked for punishment for the thief. But the Shipyard had closed ranks against them and it was obvious they were not welcome back, at least not soon.

Rhys has perked up anyway, a roach halfway to his mouth forgotten in his hand. 'Maybe we can help them. I know some medicine. We can at least check, and deliver the trade goods.'

'Let me know what you decide.' Crusher takes the pitcher, nods at them and goes to take care of her settlement. 

Duncan looks at Rhys, curious and a little baffled. 'Do you really want to go? After last time? Not like they'd help us.'

'Maybe they wouldn't. But I want to try. I'm tired of never trusting anyone, never helping. And avoiding the Shipyard costs us guzzoline and water, so it would help us to have them friendly again. Coming there with the trade goods from the Woolies should at least get us something.' Rhys remembers the roach in his fingers and bites down on it, chewing slowly.

'Are you—' Duncan leans forward so he can speak quietly. 'What do you think you can do? You don't want to magic them better, right?'

Rhys shakes his head so hard his braid flies. 'No! But I really do know something about diseases and how to treat them. Maybe I can find out what's wrong.'

Duncan nods slowly. 'Fine. I agree, it can't hurt to try and make allies with them. And if you can help them, that's a big favour.'

He isn't all that eager for the Shipyard's sake, but he rarely has seen Rhys so open and excited. Not since they started their journey to the ork settlement. And maybe Rhys is right. Duncan isn't about to go all trusting and soft on people, but help when they can afford it? It's worth a try. Duncan is reminded of the people who helped him. Crusher is among them, a few others he has never forgotten even if he has never seen them again. And the thought of being that to someone else is a very tempting one.

And it makes Rhys happy. That alone would be enough for Duncan.

After they have loaded up their truck with everything they have bartered, and everything Crusher wants them to trade, Rhys comes to hug Duncan. It makes Duncan's heart skip a beat. For all their new-found closeness, open and casual affection isn't a big part of it.

'Thank you for doing this. I think I need it.' Rhys speaks into Duncan's neck, hands running down his spine.

'Yeah. I don't know, maybe we both do.' Duncan noses into Rhys hair, breathes in the sweet, smokey scent of it. 'Let's get going. We can be there before nightfall easily.' 

Duncan gives a squeeze, and gets a smile from Rhys in return before they get into the truck and drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The giant sheep is real and one of Australia's Big Things. [He is called Rambo and he is a merino ram](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Merino)
> 
> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)


	22. Petrification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Duncan starts running. The Shipyard clan is spilling out of the overturned ships like ants. Angry shouts fill the air._  
>  _'Murderer!'_  
>  Not the welcome Rhys and Duncan hoped for.

The first stone hits Rhys above the ear, blood spattering his cloak.

Duncan can hear the impact from where he stands next to the truck. Another one hits Rhys' arm above the elbow, and he drops the precious bag of medicine he's carrying. He stumbles, raises a hand to where blood is soaking into his hair. 

'What—' Rhys' voice is slurred. Dazed. He just stands there.

Duncan starts running. The Shipyard clan is spilling out of the overturned ships like ants. Angry shouts fill the air. 

'Murderer!' 

'He cursed us!'

'Kill him!'

They have slings, and the air sings with the stones they hurl. Each one a deadly missile. A big lump smacks into Rhys' chest. He goes down on one knee with a gasp.

Duncan is almost there. Stones hit him, too, but he ignores the impacts and the pain. Rhys is the only thing on his mind. 

The bear appears around Rhys, flickering into roaring life. It's snuffed out by a stone hitting Rhys in the head with a sharp crack that echoes in Duncan's ears. Rhys falls on his hands and knees, blood pouring from his wounds. 

Throwing himself forward, Duncan is just in time to protect him from another stone. It slams into Duncan's back between his shoulder blades, knocking the air out of him. Another one clips the back of his head, the pain blackening Duncan's vision for a moment.

Using his body as a shield, Duncan pulls Rhys up in one arm and aims his gun at the advancing mob with the other. Sand sprays up as he fires, pulls the trigger twice. 

It makes them stop.

For the first time, Duncan gets a good look at them. There are not many left. He actually has enough bullets in the magazine for all of them. And none of them want to be the first to die, even though if they all attacked at once, he'd never manage to kill all or even most of them.

Almost all of them have seeping, open wounds that look like burns where they are not covered by soiled bandages. Some of them sway on their feet. One collapses to her knees now that the first anger is gone.

It's dead silent. The wind drives a few dust devils ahead of it, the only things that move in the tableau of the clan on one side and Duncan with Rhys in his arm on the other.

After a few heartbeats, one of the clan steps forward. It's the man who tried to steal from Rhys— Duncan recognises him. But barely. His veins stand out under his pale, sweaty skin. Blood trickles from his nose and eyes. Still, he holds a stone slotted into the pouch of his sling, raised up and aimed at Duncan.

'You did this! He cursed us! Our children never did anything to you, none of them. And they're dying!' It's a scream of rage, his voice breaking on the last word.

Duncan keeps the gun up, aimed between the thief and the woman next to him. He knows he only has a little time. Backing away, he drags Rhys with him, hot blood soaking his shirt.

'We didn't do shit. We came to _help_. Rhys came to help. No one needs to die here. Keep away from us.' 

He's just talking to keep them distracted. The truck is much further away than he thought. Duncan's head is swimming. Rhys is so very heavy, dead weight in his arm. But if Duncan passes out, they are both dead.

'Let us go and I will talk to him. See what he can do about it. But if he dies, you die for sure.' Duncan is improvising and not making any sense, but so far the spell of his words and the threat of the gun hold.

He bumps into the truck, feels for the door. Rhys slowly slides to the ground as soon as Duncan lets go. Duncan doesn't look down. He keeps his eyes on their enemies. If he looks down and sees Rhys crumpled on the sand and dying, he will start shooting.

More and more people in the mob sway, stagger and collapse. Their bandages and clothes darken and glisten with their blood. The wind carries their scent to Duncan. It's the scent of death. Of rot and pus and slow decay.

'If he didn't curse us, then who did?' The thief takes a step forward, teeth bared in a grimace of rage and moves to let the stone in his sling fly.

The shot echoes between the ship carcasses, thrown back and forth long after the man has fallen on his face, blood staining the sand. Duncan aims the gun at the woman, but no one moves. They cling to what little life they have left.

Grabbing Rhys and throwing him in the back of the truck with one hand, Duncan watches them as best as he can. But there's no fight left in them. 

It's draining fast out of Duncan as well. He can barely hold up the gun, and his legs are shaking. Waves of nausea run over him and he has to hold on to the truck as he gets in.

The truck rumbles to life when Duncan turns the key. It's far louder than it should be in Duncan's ears, louder even than the humming that threatens to drown out everything. As they drive off, Duncan's last look at the Shipyard clan is a huddle of people crawling back to their hiding place to die. Some stay where they are, curled up in the sand. No one tries to help them.

Reaching back with one hand, Duncan feels for Rhys' pulse and finds it weak. The road wavers in front of him and he gulps down air, fighting to stay conscious. Sand and stone rush past on either side, the road dragging him forward. 

A solid wall of bright orange jumps up in front of him.

Duncan jerks the steering wheel.

The nose of the truck narrowly avoids the ruins of a shipping container, scrapes along the edge of it. It sends the truck into a short slow spin. Another shipping container stops it. The impact throws Duncan and everything else in the truck around. Crates and bags and Rhys scattered across the back.

Black spots swarming his vision, Duncan struggles to get out of the truck. Outside, he falls to his knees, bile rising in this throat. He vomits, hunched over on all fours and slowly topples over on his side. 

Duncan fights his own body, forcing it to kneel and grab the door handle. When he fumbles it open, Rhys is right there, crumpled in a heap, limbs tangled.

There is so much blood.

It's all over Rhys' robes and it covers his face. A small trickle still runs from the worst head wound. Duncan reaches in and tries to pull Rhys out of the truck. His thoughts are slow and muddled, but he knows he has to help Rhys.

A heavy weight falls on top of him and Duncan goes sprawling. The sky above him is empty, blue and bright. So bright that Duncan closes his eyes and doesn't open them again.

Rhys jerks awake and grimaces when it makes a fierce headache flare up. His mouth is dry, and he can barely open his eyes. Light filters in through the eyelids, but they are gummed shut. Something barely moving under him turns out to be Duncan, his chest rising and falling. Rhys rolls off of him and rubs at his eyes with both hands. He drops into astral sight, casting about for signs of anyone else around. 

But there is only Duncan. The clear green of his aura is shot through with black streaks, and so is Rhys' own.

Something must have gone very wrong, but Rhys can only remember getting out of the truck at the Shipyard. Hearing the guard in the crow's nest call out his name. Illustrated Man. It had made Rhys smile.

Sitting back against the truck, Rhys pulls Duncan into his lap. He can finally blink his eyes open, and looks down at Duncan, pale under the blood and under his tan. There's skin torn open on his scalp, blood dried around it. He moves weakly and struggles in Rhys' arms until he realises who is holding him.

'You're alive.' It's a hoarse whisper, but it's accompanied by a broad smile that makes Duncan's eyes light up. 

'Apparently so.' Rhys smiles right back. He puts a hand on Duncan's chest when he tries to sit up. 'No. Stay.'

Focusing, Rhys casts a spell, magic trickling into Duncan and washing away the black strands in a flood of fresh green. The tang of ozone on his tongue, Rhys swallows and breathes deeply, his headache growing stronger with every beat of his heart. 

Duncan gives a surprised grunt and a shiver runs through him. 'That. Feels weird.' He reaches up to the wounds on his head, only smooth skin now. 'Can you heal yourself? Please tell me you can.' 

'I can. I might pass out again.' Tipping his head back against the truck, Rhys casts another spell. It takes more out of him than healing Duncan, and the black streaks don't go away completely. Neither does the headache. From experience, Rhys knows this is exhaustion. He needs sleep.

'Are we being hunted? What happened?' Rhys doesn't try to stand just yet, only reaches into the truck for a canteen of water. He catches Duncan staring at him while sitting up slowly.

Slowly, Duncan raises a hand to touch Rhys' head. Rhys lets him, sits still while fear rises up unbidden. He has never done this spell with Duncan able to see it. A whole life's worth of hiding his magic is screaming at him.

Duncan gives a soft laugh, running his fingers over the healed skin. 'I'm glad you can do this. But it's weird as hell to watch.'

There's only fascination in his voice, his face open curiosity and admiration. The fear settles down again. Rhys has shown Duncan so much magic by now, one spell more doesn't change anything. And Duncan has shown over and over that Rhys can trust him with this. 

They both sit, leaning against the truck and sharing the water. Neither is in a hurry to survey the damage on the truck. The sun is low on the horizon and the shipping container throws a long shadow over them, but the warmth of the sand is pleasant. 

'I don't know what happened at the Shipyard.' Duncan speaks slowly. 'They were in bad shape. Dying, all of them I have seen. And they think you cursed them. The moment you came close, they tried to kill you. Stone you to death.'

Rhys stares at him. He can't understand what Duncan is saying. A memory swims up, of a man in a hateful grimace. The same man who stole the seeds. Teeth bared and eyes burning with rage. And a stone, hurled from a sling. Sudden pain, bright and silvery. The snarl of Bear in Rhys' mind. And then more pain, and nothing but blackness sweeping him away in a rush.

Rhys sits very still. Breathes in, and out. His heart is racing. Tears sting in his eyes and the next breath turns into a sob.

Duncan hugs him. 'Sshh. It's alright. We got away. They won't get to us.'

Pushing weakly at Duncan, Rhys shakes his head. He's not afraid. He isn't even angry. But he has dared to hope he could make a difference. That people could be helped, and be decent. That kindness would be met with kindness, or at least not with violence. 

The weight of his crushed hopes drags him down. His mind drowns in a mire or sadness and regret and despair.

'I just wanted to _help_!' It's a howl, loud and anguished.

Duncan hasn't let go and Rhys gives in. He hides in Duncan's embrace, blinds himself to the world.

'I'm sorry.' Duncan speaks against Rhys' ear in a low murmur. 'I think you couldn't have helped anyway. They are too far gone.'

Rhys sits and cries and thinks about all the dead orks at the settlement. About all the people who mistrust Duncan and him on sight, just because of their ears and tusks. About the people who want him because he is so different. Kept him as a slave because of it. About how they will always be alone in the vast and hostile Wastes. 

He is so tired, he cannot even bring up the energy to cry any more. It will never end, and Rhys is exhausted. He wants it to be over. Everything. He wants to just sit here and be buried by the next sandstorm. He wants to stop thinking and feeling. He wants to _stop_.

After a while, Duncan gets up and comes back to clean Rhys and himself up with a cloth and some water. Rhys lets him, moves when Duncan nudges him. His limbs are too heavy to move on his own, and his eyes impossible to keep open. Once Duncan stops touching him, Rhys curls up on his side, hood drawn over his face. Duncan hovers over him for a bit, but Rhys pretends to sleep and is relieved when Duncan walks away without another word. 

False sleep turns to real one, and he jerks awake when Duncan scoops him up, arms under Rhys' shoulders and knees.

'Ssh. It's fine. Truck's okay. Gonna go back to the Woolies. You can sleep on the way.' Duncan's low murmur vibrates in Rhys' chest, comforting and safe.

He knows he should have helped Duncan. That he should stay awake and help with the driving. Or at least talk to Duncan. But when Duncan puts him down in the back of the truck and pulls a blanket over him, Rhys slips back into sleep. In his sleep, nothing hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> CONTENT INFO:  
> graphic violence  
> vomit


	23. Cryptobiosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There are no more good days, not really._  
>  The aftermath of the attack takes a toll on both Rhys and Duncan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cryptobiosis: a metabolic state of life entered by an organism in response to adverse environmental conditions

'We're here. You want to come along, or would you rather stay with the truck?' 

Duncan would badly like for Rhys to come along. Ever since the Shipyard clan almost killed him, Rhys has been growing more and more withdrawn. There are no more good days, not really. He barely talks. Sleeps a lot. Only eats when Duncan reminds him to.

It hurts Duncan to see. He knows it's not his fault, but the guilt eats away at him nonetheless. Rarely, he can coax a small smile or some other expression of actual interest from Rhys with something he says, or something he shows to him. And he desperately searches for these things.

After the attack, they had gone back to the Woolies, and had stayed there for a few days. Neither of them had felt comfortable staying in one place too long, even though they had been made to feel welcome. It's not entirely without an agenda. Duncan is very aware that Crusher appreciates their scavenging skills. 

In the end, they had packed up and gone back to roaming the Wastes. It's where they belong most, Duncan thinks, just the two of them. Only right now, it often is just him, or might as well be. Rhys still accepts Duncan's touch, even seeks it out, and that keeps Duncan going. But it isn't enough and he is slowly starving in his soul. 

Maybe Rhys just needs time. He has been telling himself that for weeks though. 

'I'll stay.' Rhys jumps at the chance not to have to be around people, and Duncan regrets making the offer. 

'I'll make it quick. We don't need that much anyway.' Duncan leans in and Rhys runs his hand over his mohawk, kisses him. There's so much sadness in his eyes that Duncan can't bear to look.

The market is run by the Cave Divers, and their homes are rickety structures built right into a cliff wall high up - some caves, sheet metal, plywood, cargo nets. It's all held together by chains, ropes and bolts and connected with walkways and rope bridges that look flimsier every time Duncan sees them. Trading here is not for the faint of heart.

He calls up, and a rope is lowered for him. One foot in the stirrup, he holds on for dear life and not for the first time thinks about how easy it would be for them to drop him and just gather up the loot. And, like every time so far, they don't. He steps off onto the first platform, pays his admittance to the market in aqua cola and then sets off into the labyrinth of platforms and bridges.

It's a multi-level market, and Duncan predictably gets lost. He always does, but he doesn't really mind. There's a lot to see and while he wants to be back with Rhys quickly, he does take a little time to browse, hoping to find a wordbuger or seeds or something else to make Rhys happy.

Looking up from a stall of clothes, Duncan meets the wide eyes of a young man on the other side of it. It's Rubbertoy, the slave he and Rhys had hunted. The one Rhys had let go. The one who had escaped from the Shipyard. Maybe he—

Duncan can't even finish the thought before Rubbertoy takes off at a run, weaving between the sellers and customers. On instinct, Duncan gives chase. He wants to know what _happened_ , and he wants to be able to tell Rhys. Maybe it will help.

'Hey! I don't want to hurt you!' Duncan yells at Rubbertoy's back, but the promise does nothing to slow the man down. If anything, he runs faster.

The reality of chasing a man through a labyrinth of platforms, ladders and bridges between rocky outcrops catches up to Duncan the second he slips and can only just grab a rope to keep himself from sliding off a ledge. 

Rubbertoy takes a leap, landing on a rope bridge and sending it swinging wildly. He keeps running, apparently made fearless of the height by the terror of Duncan catching up.

The distance is much too wide to jump, and there is no choice but the bridge. Duncan very much _is_ afraid of the height, at least right now. His weight does little to stabilise the bridge, and a step at the wrong moment unbalances it even more. Still Duncan keeps going, as fast as he can. Gripping the ropes on either side, he tries to keep his eyes on the other side and not on the ground below. On the people on the lower platforms, staring up and pointing. If he falls now, he falls all the way.

'Please! I just want to—' Duncan sentence is cut short when Rubbertoy turns and takes a swipe at one of the ropes with a knife longer than his arm. The rope holds, but it gives an audible twang and the bridge shudders.

No one will come to help Duncan, and he knows it. They all just watch, just like he would simply watch if this happened to someone else. 

'Please, don't. Your owners are dead. I'm not here for you.' Duncan doesn't move, holds Rubbertoy's gaze. His hands grip the rope so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and he doesn't dare look away or take another step. A gust of wind like a hand shoving him startles a low fearful sound out of Duncan.

The knife poised for another slash, Rubbertoy squints at Duncan. 'What about your slave? Did you kill him?'

'What?' For a moment Duncan has no idea why Rubbertoy would ask that, and then he remembers his rage at Rhys. It still makes him blush hot with shame, even now. 

'No. And he's not my slave anymore. You can talk to him, if you want to. But _please_ , will you let me off this bridge?' 

Rubbertoy relaxes his hold on the knife, but doesn't put it away. 'We can talk. But you stay where you are.'

Duncan swallows, but he knows he's not getting a better offer. 'Alright. Do you know what happened at the Shipyard? We went there and everyone was dying. Some kind of disease?'

'I'm not sure. Someone brought back this machine, and it had glowing blue sand inside. It looked nice. Everyone wanted some. I didn't get any. And people started to get sick. They wanted me to take care of them when they started to throw up and bleed all over. Let me out of my cage. I ran. Didn't feel so good for a bit but I'm okay.' Rubbertoy stares at Duncan. 'I'm glad they're dead.'

'Can't blame you.' Duncan's breathing slows down as the bridge stops swinging, and he doesn't clutch the rope quite so hard. 'Where did the stuff come from? Do you know what it was?'

Rubbertoy shrugs. 'No idea. They brought back some other stuff. Weird tools. Soft clothes. And ball bearings. So many of those. Even some drugs from Before - you know, like pills? For pain and stuff? ' He smiles a hard little smile. 'Didn't help them though.'

There's a little pause where they consider each other. Duncan prefers not to move, aware of the people behind him crowding on the landing. But they are just spectators. Rubbertoy stands alone. No one wants to come near him. Duncan is thankful for that; he doesn't need complications.

'Did you really not kill him?' Rubbertoy ask the question slowly, in a soft tone and the wind almost carries it away before it reaches Duncan.

'Rhys? No. We— things changed between us. And it started with you. No more bounty hunting. No more slave.' There's no reason why Rubbertoy should believe him, but Duncan desperately wants him to. He's not exactly sure why, but maybe he wants _someone_ to believe that the world can change.

'Guess I'm not the only one who owes him.' Rubbertoy takes a few steps backward, but doesn't look away from Duncan. 'Don't follow me. I've told you everything I know.'

Duncan gives him a nod, relieved that this worked out after all. He watches Rubbertoy melt into the crowd and slowly backs away himself, turning to walk across the bridge and start the climb down to Rhys.

On the way down, he thinks about how much he owes Rhys, and how much their lives have changed. For the better, Duncan thinks, although it's hard to hold on to that when he finds Rhys curled up in the truck. Not sleeping, but hiding from the world. He's slow to come out of hiding even for Duncan, but does greet him with a smile.

'I met Rubbertoy. He told me what happened at the Shipyard. At least, what he knows about it.' Duncan pauses and waits for a reaction.

There isn't much of one. 

'They're dead, does it matter?' Rhys sounds tired. Listless. He looks away, stowing the blanket he has used as a pillow under the seat.

It hurts Duncan more than he would have thought. He risked his life to find this out, and he thought it would at least pique Rhys' interest. But it seems like it's an annoyance for Rhys to talk about this.

'I guess it doesn't.' Duncan backs off, throws the pack with their bartered supplies into the truck. He doesn't meet Rhys' eyes, stung by the lack of interest, and the rejection. It sits like lead in his gut, weighs down his limbs and his thoughts.

'Let's go.' Duncan shrugs off Rhys' hand on his arm, and Rhys doesn't try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> CONTENT INFO  
> depression  
> discussions of slavery


	24. Lacuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Duncan suddenly realises that it's almost sundown and Rhys isn't back yet. And that is unusual. Immediately, worry starts to roil in his stomach._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lacuna: a blank space, break, hole, or lack in a set of things

Duncan gives a sigh. After two hours of searching and digging, he has found what he thinks are an acceptable amount of tubers. Rhys has taught him what to look for, and while they are bitter and chewy, people will trade for them.

He shoulders his backpack and looks around for Rhys, but he's nowhere to be seen. It's not something Duncan worries about. They tend to lose sight of each other when they scavenge and forage. Especially when they forage, because it makes no sense to stick to each other then.

Back at the truck, Duncan sits in what little shade their shelter offers and sorts through his finds. He then goes to fiddle with the engine. It's been making a noise Duncan doesn't like. 

He suddenly realises that it's almost sundown and Rhys isn't back yet. And that _is_ unusual. Immediately, worry starts to roil in his stomach.

Duncan wishes he could conjure up one of Rhys' little bears. They are good at searching. But he can't, and so he goes to follow the direction he knows Rhys went in, following the tracks he can find. The wind has covered a lot of them already, but Rhys has also taught him how to find and follow tracks that are much older than this. And Duncan had been paying attention.

As he walks, the setting sun casts his shadow long ahead of him on the sand. It keeps him company as he walks out into the Wastes, following Rhys' tracks. Small dunes scattered across the landscape keep him from spotting Rhys until he is almost on top of him, his shadow gone along with the sun.

Rhys is sitting with his back to a dead tree, partially revealed by the wandering of the dune, and has his eyes closed. His backpack sits next to him, and Duncan spots one of the little spirits wandering the crest of the next dune. Opening his eyes, Rhys looks up at him, clearly not surprised to see him.

His smile does nothing to calm the sudden anger bursting aflame in Duncan's chest.

'Were you planning on coming back, or did you want to spend the night here?' It's a struggle not to shout. Duncan puts the energy in finding his way down the dune.

At its foot, Rhys stands, waiting until Duncan is on even ground. A blush is rising to his cheeks, and he can't meet Duncan's eyes.

'I am sorry. I lost track of time.' 

Duncan is speechless. He has never known Rhys to be careless, or reckless, and this is both. 

'What do you mean, you lost track of time? It's _dark_ — you should have been back long ago! How can you lose track of that?' Duncan's voice rises, louder than he wants it to be in the night-silent desert. 

Rhys gives a slow shake of his head. 'I would have come back. I can find my way in the dark, you know that. I just wanted to sit for a bit.'

'What?' Duncan's anger hurls itself at Rhys' calm and shatters against it. It flows out of him, leaving only deep exhaustion and resignation. He turns on his heel and makes his way up the dune again. Rhys follows him and they walk back to the truck in silence.

The silence stays with them throughout the night, only interrupted by the most necessary words. It's still with them in the morning, and Duncan cannot stand it any longer.

He sits down next to Rhys, hands him a bowl of lizard jerky. He knows fully well Rhys won't eat otherwise, would forget or pretend to forget. Just like he _forgets_ to drink enough, or pack enough water unless Duncan reminds him.

'I hate what happened at the Shipyard as much as you. And I know it's not easy for you, not having a home. A place to come back to. But you cannot give up. And you cannot just wander off and put yourself in danger like that.' Duncan keeps his voice quiet, one hand drifting over to take one of Rhys'.

'I wasn't in danger. I had my watcher. And I knew the way back.' Rhys shrugs and gives Duncan's hand a squeeze before letting go of it.

Duncan stares at him, at a loss at how to reach Rhys, make himself understood. Rhys acts as if what he did, and does, is perfectly normal. It is not. It's not that he is actively seeking out danger, and he takes care not to endanger Duncan. But it's clear he doesn't care about himself.

Almost like the stoning has dealt a mortal injury to his soul. One that is slow to kill, like poison.

'We should go. Make some distance before noon.' Rhys gets up and leaves Duncan and the conversation.

Silence becomes their constant companion. Together with Rhys' increasing numbness to everything, it's a wall between them Duncan can neither climb nor break down.

He tries. He talks to Rhys, talks _at_ Rhys, makes sure he at least cannot physically withdraw from the world, reminds him to eat and to drink, holds him when they sleep. 

Rhys listens to his talk. He eats the food and drinks the water, he trails after Duncan in settlements and does what is expected of him when they scavenge. He allows Duncan to hold him, even seeks it out. But he's lifeless in Duncan's embrace, a million clicks away in his mind where Duncan cannot go.

Whenever Duncan leaves Rhys alone even for a short time, he comes back to find him curled up, eyes closed and drifting. There's always a watcher on guard, so Duncan cannot complain about Rhys being careless.

This time, when Duncan comes back from a settlement the truck cannot reach, he finds Rhys stretched out under a tarp. The watcher is there, tiny paw prints in the sand creating a circle around their camp. It looks up at Duncan and huffs, a puff of breath he can feel when he bends down to pick it up. It comes up to sit on his shoulder, fur ghosting across the skin on Duncan's neck.

Rhys doesn't react when Duncan kneels down next to him. He's limp and still, his chest barely rising and falling. For a moment, Duncan thinks Rhys is sleeping, but he doesn't wake up. Not when Duncan calls his name, and not when Duncan shakes him. Not even when Duncan pulls him in his lap. Rhys is just dead weight in his arms.

Shaking all over, Duncan tries to figure out what to _do_. He looks around for anything Rhys might have eaten or drunk that could have poisoned him, looks all over Rhys for a bite from a snake or a sting from a scorpion. 

'Please, wake up, come on—' Duncan splashes Rhys' face with water, spilling it on the blanket and in the sand, his hands are trembling so badly. 

With a sudden deep breath, Rhys is back. He opens his eyes and they are perfectly clear and aware, not like he had been unconscious or even just sleeping. 

'Oh. You're back already.' Rhys sits, wiping the last drops of water off of his face. He doesn't move out of Duncan's embrace, but he barely looks at him.

The casual reaction stops Duncan's worried questions in their tracks and he can only stare at Rhys. He opens his mouth, but he doesn't even know what to say to this. 

'Yeah. I'm back.' He dumps Rhys on the ground, lets him fall out of his arms as he gets up to walk a few steps. With a little pop, the watcher on his shoulder disappears. Duncan rounds on Rhys again, anger fuelling his words.

'What were you _doing_? I thought you were dying! Don't you dare to tell me you were just sleeping.' Standing over Rhys, Duncan realises he has balled his hands into fists and relaxes them with a deep breath.

Rhys leans against the truck, picking at a few threads where his sleeve is coming apart. He is silent for so long that Duncan is close to just walking away, but the hoarse pain in Rhys' voice takes all the strength out of his limbs, and out of his rage.

'I was with Artrí. Where he— belongs. Where he lives. I feel safe there. Like _I_ belong there. It's—', Rhys pauses and searches for words to explain, finally really looking at Duncan. Holding his gaze, and his eyes are wide and shining with tears that threaten to spill. It's more emotion than Rhys has shown since the Shipyard and Duncan chokes on it.

'It's a Green Place. It's something I know I can never have here. Please don't take it from me.' Rhys' voice breaks and he falls silent, hands in his lap clutching at each other.

Duncan sits, his legs shaking too badly to carry him. 'Rhys—' He realises he has no idea what to say. 

After a moment to breathe, he tries again. 'I won't take it from you. But please don't leave me for it. At least tell me when you're going there.'

Rhys nods, wipes away his tears. 'I will. I am sorry.'

For a while, things get better. Rhys makes an effort. He takes an interest in their life again, is a partner to Duncan. But slowly, the silence starts to creep back in. The long periods where Rhys just says nothing and only sits while they drive, looking at the road ahead. The nights where Rhys is barely there, only his body left in Duncan's arms. 

Knowing where he goes during those nights does nothing to make it easier for Duncan. He tries to tell himself that it helps Rhys. That otherwise, Rhys would just wither away and die. He tries to be happy for him that he has found something to ease his pain.

It changes nothing about the fact that Duncan feels abandoned. He's lonely and it's at its worst when he's closest to Rhys. And he has no solution for this. Asking Rhys to give up the Green Place would kill him as surely as if Duncan had stabbed him. There is no way Duncan can do that.

But he is bleeding out himself. Growing numb the same way Rhys does. It's easier than being sad and exhausted all the time. There's no energy left in him to be angry at Rhys. He barely has enough to take care of the two of them so the Wastes don't claim them and bury their bones in the endless sands. 

At night, when he's sleepless with Rhys silent and unmoving next to him, Duncan can feel the Wastes creeping in, finding their way into the nooks and crannies of his mind. Like a ghost town slowly being buried, he knows it's only a matter of time until there will only be sand and silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)
> 
> CONTENT INTO  
> depression  
> suicidal ideation  
> 


	25. Concatenation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'There's someone up there. Barely alive. We should leave.' Rhys opens his eyes after the usual sweep of the area before making camp. He doesn't sound particularly scared, or upset. But then, he very rarely raises his voice above a monotone these days._  
>  A chance meeting with unforeseen consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concatenation: a series or order of things depending on each other, as if linked together

'There's someone up there. Barely alive. We should leave.' Rhys opens his eyes after the usual sweep of the area before making camp. He doesn't sound particularly scared, or upset. But then, he very rarely raises his voice above a monotone these days.

Duncan thinks it over. Barely alive might mean desperate. Or easy loot. Or, and this is still a new thought for him, it might mean a potential ally. 

'I want to go check. Show me where.' He grabs his gun, and a waterskin. 

Rhys stares at him and doesn't move. 'Why risk it? Let's just go. If you want the loot, we can come back in a couple of days. They'll be dead then.'

Duncan's patience frays at the edges, but he tries not to let it show. 'You were the one who told me I shouldn't let the Wastes eat up my humanity.' He shrugs and starts walking, his point made. 'You can wait here if you want.'

After a few paces, Rhys catches up with him. He doesn't say anything, but Duncan's skin prickles with magic. The see-me-not-spell shimmers in his vision for a moment before it settles. Rhys' mind touches his, asking for permission. It's routine by now, but having Rhys speak in his thoughts has never lost its intimacy. 

No matter their anger at each other, they move easily and effortlessly in a dance, speaking in gestures and glances and single silent words. Coming up to the dying person from two sides, they find their target up on a rise next to a crashed motorcycle. 

It's a woman, white curly hair in a messy ponytail, wrinkled skin baked by the sun for decades. A hood is covering half her face, and blood stains the sand. Flies feast on it, swirling around each other, their buzz loud in the silence of the desert. 

The bike is decked out in fabric, soft and colourful. The woman is curled up in what meagre shade it offers, a bag clutched in her arms. 

Duncan stands and stares, his hand falling from his gun. 

'Keeper?'

There is no reaction except a quiet groan. Duncan thinks at Rhys. _You're sure there is no one else?_ , and he gets a firm _No one._ in return.

'Keeper, I'm coming out. Don't shoot.' Duncan stands, and Rhys disbelief washes over him in a wave from the back of his mind. 

It doesn't look like Keeper is in any shape to fight, but Duncan remembers her skill with the rifle well, even though it's been a very long time. 

He is barely in his teens, but already starting to grow taller and bigger than most. It has made him a target for slavers, and while he has given them a good fight, there are too many. Fewer after the fight, but Duncan still finds himself in a cage next to a frightened girl half his size.

She seeks shelter with him, and he offers what he can. Five days and six nights they are caged together. Talin tells him of her clan. The Vuvalini, the Many Mothers. Duncan doesn't believe her when she describes the Green Place, not at first. But he still asks to hear more. He is not yet too old for the comfort of a fairy tale.

He does his best to repay her, keeps her warm and shares what food and water they are handed. The slavers leave them mostly alone. No sense in damaging the goods. 

At dawn on the sixth day, they are woken by shots shattering the silence. The slavers are taken by surprise and one by one they drop. 

One shot, one kill. 

Duncan wraps himself around Talin, all muscles quivering with the urge to fight or flee, and unable to do either. 

All the slavers lie dead. Red sprays of blood, white splinters of bone and grey clumps of brain are splattered all over the sand. The silence rings in Duncan's ears. He cannot hear the footsteps of the woman wrapped in brown clothes rising up out of the dunes. He cannot hear what Talin calls out to her. But he can read the joy on Talin's face.

Still, once the woman has found the key to their cage and has handed it to Talin, Duncan finds the rifle pointed at him. The woman takes aim, her gaze unwavering. Talin steps in front of him. It's laughable, she barely comes up to his chest. The woman could still blow his brains out.

She doesn't. She listens to what Talin has to say. And she lowers the rifle. Keeper, as Talin calls her, stares at Duncan for a moment longer and her sharp eyes keep him in place just as effectively as the rifle. Then she nods at him.

'Make yourself useful. Pick one of the cars, and what supplies you need. Can't kill you, not after you've helped her.' 

Relief floods through Duncan, and he nods back, not trusting himself to speak. They start dragging bodies out of trucks and cars, checking guzzoline and water and food and ammunition. After a while, Talin breaks the silence. 

'Can't we take him? To the Green Place?'

After days of listening to her talk about it and never letting himself quite believe it, hope pierces Duncan's heart in a sharp pain. It turns into a dull hurt when Keeper immediately shakes her head.

'No. He cannot come." She turns to Duncan. 'I'm sorry. It's not our way. You need to make it on your own, or look for your own clan. The Many Mothers have no place for you.'

She says it almost kindly, but there is no pity in her eyes. There _is_ a sort of respect in the way she doesn't try to soften the blow, and Duncan appreciates it. 

Talin doesn't argue. They take their leave from each other soon after, and she hugs him, squeezing hard. The sweet smell of her hair lingers with Duncan as he drives off, the dust cloud of their bike's growing rapidly smaller in his rear view mirror. He's not been handed a paradise. But he has been given a fighting chance, and he is going to use it.

They have never seen each other again, and over the years, Duncan has learned enough of the fearsome reputation of the Vuvalini to never seek them out. But he has never forgotten Talin, nor Keeper.

It seems Keeper hasn't forgotten him either. She watches him as he comes closer, recognition blooming on her face. Her lips move, but no sounds come out.

Quickly looking her over, Duncan sees the broken leg, twisted at an impossible angle. The blood is from a head wound and cuts and scrapes, all scabbed over already. He doesn't move her, but he offers her some water. She drinks eagerly, her head falling back after a few sips, exhausted just from swallowing.

Looking up, Duncan searches for Rhys and finds him standing a couple of meters away, face unreadable.

'Help me, please.' Duncan holds out a pleading hand. He knows he is asking a lot, but he won't let Keeper die. There's a debt to be paid, and he cannot do it alone.

Rhys takes a step back. His presence in Duncan's mind cuts off sharply, and Rhys goes completely still.

'No.'

The single word does what all of Rhys' withdrawal and neglect haven't done. Duncan snaps.

'Help her! Or I _will_ leave you, I swear I will!' He doesn't shout. But he throws his words like a punch, and Rhys staggers. 

He gapes at Duncan, betrayal and surprise laid bare on his face. For a moment, there's silence and it stretches between them as they stare at each other, fighting a battle without ever moving.

Rhys drops his gaze and comes to kneel next to Duncan. Without looking up, Rhys puts his hand on Keeper's arm and lets out a long breath. Keeper goes tense, flails weakly to shove Rhys away. The thunderstorm taste of a spell is acrid on Duncan's tongue. It makes all his hair stand on end, his muscles tensing up.

Gently but with enough force to hold her, Rhys takes Keeper's wrists and pushes her down on her back while her leg knits itself together. Duncan can hear the bone crunch and pop and scrape. Keeper cries out before she goes limp, passing out from the pain and from exhaustion.

'Will she make it?' Duncan feels for her pulse, finds it weak.

'I think so. Probably.' Rhys' voice is tense and he doesn't offer to help Duncan carry Keeper into camp. He does stay with her while Duncan gets the bike. But once he is back, Rhys withdraws and sits at the edge of their camp, staring out into the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betaread by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/profile) \- thank you
> 
> CONTENT INFO:  
> slight gore (motorcycle accident, people getting shot)


	26. Aseismic Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'I'm Keeper of the Seeds.' Opening up the bag, she lets Rhys have a look and it takes his breath away. There are bags and glass bottles and nets full of seeds. Some of them Rhys knows, others he has never seen._  
>  Hope is planted in Rhys, but will it grow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aseismic creep: measurable surface displacement along a fault in the absence of notable earthquakes

Duncan has fallen asleep, exhausted after watching over the old woman for almost two days straight. He has refused Rhys' help until he couldn't any longer, has ignored all of Rhys' little peace offerings and focused only on Keeper. 

Rhys can't blame him. He has watched them from a distance and is amazed how downright tender Duncan is with her. From their talks, Rhys has gathered that they know each other, and that Duncan owes her his life. Debts are something Duncan takes very seriously. Both the ones he is owed and the ones he owes.

Now, with the sunrise not far off and Duncan snoring gently in his nest of blankets under the tarp of their improvised camp, the woman comes to sit with Rhys. She is in much better shape already, water, food and rest healing what the spell hasn't been able to. And she is clearly impatient to leave. She has spent hours during the day to make sure her bike is in order with Duncans help.

'I saw you have a collection of seeds.' 

It is the first full sentence Keeper has said to Rhys, mostly because Rhys has avoided talking to either her or Duncan. Her voice is deep and firm, and there's a mischievous look to her, dug into the wrinkles around her eyes from smiling and laughing that Rhys cannot help but like. It almost hides the steel beneath, but Rhys is good at seeing that and it's there, cold and deadly when she needs it. 

'I do. I like plants.' Rhys gestures at his tattoos, a vine curling up the side of his neck the only one visible right now. 'Why do they call you Keeper?'

It earns him a grin from her, bright and delighted. 'Funny you should ask that.' She pulls the old leather bag into her lap that she has been guarding as soon as she has been able to. 

'I'm Keeper of the Seeds.' Opening up the bag, she lets Rhys have a look and it takes his breath away. There are bags and glass bottles and nets full of seeds. Some of them Rhys knows, others he has never seen. 

He stares, and when she lets him hold some of the containers and touch the seeds, it almost drowns Rhys in a bittersweet pain. So much that has been lost, and the seeds are the only thing left.

He goes to get his own collection, and they spend some time comparing and swapping. Rhys has never talked to anyone who knows this much about plants, and about growing them. 

'Do you grow your seeds?' Keeper puts the question to him out of the blue and Rhys doesn't know what to say. The answer seems obvious to him - of course not, where would he even do that? It brings home to him just how lost and drifting he is, and will remain. A shake of his head is the only answer he can manage.

'Why not? It's what they are for. I plant mine, carry them with me. They don't take, not really. Roaming around, that's no life for plants. But you need to _try_ , and be ready for when you do find a place where they can grow.' 

'And where would that be.' Rhys brushes her off, almost angrily.

'I don't know. But you won't find it by thinking you never will. I had a Green Place. It's gone now, but who knows. There are others. and maybe, one day, I'll find a spot to _make_ one.' Keeper gently and reverently puts her seeds into the bag again.

She looks up at him when she is done, pins him down with her gaze. 'Your secret is safe with me. You saved my life, I won't paint a bullseye on your back by telling anyone about your magic. You're not the only one, you know that? But I haven't met anyone for a long, long time.'

'Thank you.' Rhys believes her, for no reason he can put into words. 'I've never met anyone. But I always keep it secret.'

He takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together and opening them in front of him. A flower sprouts from his palms, green leaves rapidly growing and red petals unfurling. It glows in the darkness, a small light between them, lighting up Keeper's face. 

Reaching out to touch it, Keeper closes her eyes while running a finger along the stem and the petals. The flower sways slightly from her touch, spreading a sweet scent, and Keeper leans forward to smell it, her rough hands touching Rhys'.

She gently places her hands over the flower and Rhys lets the spell slip from his mind. 

'Maybe you are right. Maybe it's time to plant some seeds.' Rhys wants to believe her. He just doesn't know if he has the strength.

Keeper nods at him. 'Thank you for the flower. I hadn't seen one for so long.' 

Long after she has gone back to sleep, her words turn over in Rhys' mind. 

Make a Green Place. 

Make a _home_.

It takes root in his thoughts.

'Would you take Rhys with you? I know it's a lot to ask. I haven't forgotten what you told me why you couldn't take me back then, and I get it. But he is going to _die_ out here, and he could be so useful to you.' Duncan has waited until Rhys has gone to hunt for lizards at first light, hoping to catch them still sluggish from the night. He has said his goodbye to Keeper already, embracing her with a warmth and tenderness that made Duncan stare. 

Seeing them like this has cemented his plan. It's not something he wants Rhys to hear. Duncan hasn't talked to him about it, there's no use in Rhys getting his hopes up.

'Take him where?' Keeper looks up at Duncan, stops loading her bike.

'To your Green Place.' 

'But it's gone? Didn't you hear? It turned sour on us, all the water and all the ground. Even if I wanted, I couldn't take him.' Keeper shakes her head, looking exactly as small as she is for a moment. 'He needs to find his own hope. You can't do that for him. Can't fix him. Don't try, you'll drive yourself crazy.'

Disappointed, Duncan only grunts in reply. He has gotten his own hopes up ever since the idea came to him last night. Both for Rhys' sake, and for his own. Watching out for Rhys has grown into a full time job, and Duncan is exhausted. But he truly did believe that the Green Place would have saved Rhys' life. Now, he's back to watching him slowly die.

He pulls himself together. 'I'm sorry. About your Green Place.'

Keeper shrugs. 'It is what it is.'

Duncan has to ask now. He hasn't really dared, almost preferring not to know. But if he doesn't ask now, it will eat at him. 'And Talin?'

Keeper shakes her head. 'I don't know. She left. A few of us did, when the Green Place died. Couldn't stand to stay and watch it wither. Can't blame them.'

'Maybe she made it.' Duncan wants to hope, against better knowledge. Hope hurts, but he has learned that it's worth it sometimes.

'Maybe. She remembered you. Said the same thing about you. Maybe he made it. And here you are.' Keeper gives him a smile. 'Here, this is for Rhys. I hope you two find something to hold on to.'

It's a small pot, the green tinted surface cool and smooth in Duncan's hands. Inside is soil, dark and rich. It smells like nothing Duncan has ever smelled before, the scent rising from it like steam. It smells like Duncan imagines a garden to smell like, of life and growth. 

Keeper swings a leg over her bike while Duncan is still staring down at the pot. She checks her rifle in its holster one last time and then starts the engine. The deep rumble tears Duncan out of his reverie. 

He's at a loss at what to say. Goodbyes aren't something the Wastes have allowed him much practice in. The majority of the ones he had have been final and sudden, with no use for words.

Keeper rescues him, gives a short wave and a crooked smile. 'Until next time.'

Duncan gives her a nod and a smile in return and watches her drive off, the pot still in his hands. He turns away when the dust cloud of her bike disappears behind the next rise and settles down to wait for Rhys.

He has to wait long enough that he's getting nervous, but finally Rhys walks back into camp with a handful of lizards. When Duncan gives him the pot, Rhys sits with it in his lap, breathing in the smell and touching the soil with something like reverence. 

They don't talk, except to decide that they won't break camp until next morning. It's mostly Duncan deciding that, Rhys just nodding along. Finally, Duncan cannot stand it any longer. 

'I am sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Demanded that of you.' No matter how good it had felt at the time.

Rhys looks at him for a long time, so long that Duncan wants to squirm. 

'Did you mean it?'

Duncan grimaces. 'At the time? Yeah. I did. It all got— too much.'

It gets a slow nod from Rhys. 'I understand. I'm sorry, too. For being such a burden. And don't tell me I wasn't. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. It's not fair to you. You can't do this for both of us.'

'Can we— start over? Can I do something different?' Duncan has no idea what, but he has come to realise that it's not his place to know. This is something Rhys has to tell him.

Rhys is silent for a long time, fingers petting the smooth surface of the pot, tracing the green lines etched into the dark glazing. 

'I don't know. I want to. I think I need to be on my own for a bit.'

Duncan stares at him. 'You barely survive with me around!'

'Is that why you asked Keeper to take me?' Rhys throws his words at Duncan, and Duncan throws them right back. A cold trickle runs down his spine at the realisation Rhys has heard them. Duncan hopes he hasn't fucked this up, but he won't lie either.

'Yes! Because I can't give you what you need, and I thought Keeper might. But their Green Place is gone. So it's just us. And it needs to be _us_ , not me trying to keep you alive while you are looking for a way not to be short of just shooting yourself!' Duncan doesn't yell. He is too tired for that. 

It takes a weight off his shoulders to finally say it. To leave Rhys no choice but to admit it. To leave him no hiding place in undisturbed silence. 

'I know. You're right.' Rhys' voice is barely louder than the hiss of the sand, driven along by the wind.

'I'm sorry I did this to you. I cannot promise you I will get better right away, but I can promise you I will try. Because I don't want to be apart from you. Not even when I get a Green Place. It's nothing to me without you.' Reaching out, Rhys takes Duncan's hand and places a careful kiss to the palm.

It takes Duncan by surprise. All he can see in this moment is Rhys, kneeling in the sand in front of him. Alive and soft and there is nothing more precious to Duncan in the whole Wasteland.

Tracing Rhys' lips with his thumb, chapped skin rough under it, Duncan takes a deep breath and swallows down the taste of tears.

'I don't want you to leave. But you need to talk to me. Don't shut me out. I need you just as much.' Duncan shuffles closer, wraps his hand around the back of Rhys' neck and presses their foreheads together. It brings the scent of incense and of rich soil into his nose.

'I don't want to go back to how my life was before you. You help me be— more. Please, let me help you.' He rubs his thumb over Rhys' neck, the hairs there soft and short. 'But I had no right to demand that you use your magic like this. I trust Keeper, but still. It wasn't my decision to make and I won't ever do it again.'

Rhys turns his head to the side, looks out across the desert. But he stays close to Duncan, doesn't move away. 'I don't want it to happen like this again, no matter how important it is to you. But it woke me. You would never have done this if I hadn't abandoned you before. And it needs to be us, together. You don't decide over me, and I don't force you to do it.'

Rhys climbs into Duncan's lap, the pot with soil placed carefully next to them. Wrapping himself around Duncan, Rhys presses his face into Duncan's neck. He is warm and _alive_ in Duncan's arms.

For a while, they sit with their arms slung around each other, breathing in time with the other, leaving no space between them whatsoever. For a while, it's just the two of them, and nothing and nobody else exists.

Gently disentangling himself, Rhys picks up the pot and hands it to Duncan. 'Hold this for me?'

Duncan cups it in both hands, watching Rhys dig through his bag for his seeds. Sorting through the packages, he picks a small one. He opens it, sheltering the content from the wind and picks up one small seed.

With Duncan holding the pot between them, Rhys places the seed in the soil, covers it and pours a little water over it. 

'It's a bush tomato. Let's see if it grows.' He wraps his hands around Duncan's so they both hold the pot between them.

Leaning close, Rhys kisses Duncan.

It's shy at first, but it grows into a deep, long kiss, different from the ones they have shared during sex. It's not lust. It's a promise, both given and taken. 

A promise of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betaread by Crimsonherbarium \- thank you
> 
> CONTENT INTO:  
> discussion of depression and suicidal ideation


	27. Ecotone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The leaves of the small plant sway to and fro. The first two dark leaves have opened wide, and more leaves have appeared, yellowish green, sturdy and long. Between the plant sitting in his lap and Duncan, there is no way for Rhys to get lost again. They need him, just as he needs them._  
>  Things get better, but not easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ecotone: a transition area between two biological communities

The leaves of the small plant sway to and fro. The first two dark leaves have opened wide, and more leaves have appeared, yellowish green, sturdy and long. Between the plant sitting in his lap and Duncan, there is no way for Rhys to get lost again. They need him, just as he needs them.

Rhys shivers at the thought of how he abandoned Duncan. He didn't have the strength to care at the time, but now it haunts him. The hurt in Duncan's eyes and the way he so desperately tried to reach Rhys over and over again, only to be pushed away. 

Reaching out, Rhys puts a hand on Duncan's leg, and Duncan smiles at him, brushing his fingers against Rhys' cheek.

It's hard. Every single day. Hard to find the energy to get up in the morning. To eat. To look for food and scavenge goods. To simply _care_ enough.

Some days, he can't. Some days, he just stays curled up in the back of the truck. On others, he manages some of the things, but not all of them.

But he talks to Duncan, every day. Tells him how he feels, and what he can and cannot do. Sometimes, that's enough to help him do what he felt he couldn't. Sometimes, it's not.

Duncan still worries, Rhys can see it. And Duncan talks to him about it. They are no longer alone with their fears.

Rhys looks out at the Wastes, brown and orange and red, sand and stone, gliding past them. The plant in his lap is a flash of colour in the midst of it all, so delicate and new that Rhys can't get enough of it.

'I want to look for a place to settle down. Not with other people. Just us. And I want it to have water, so we can have plants.' Rhys hasn't known he is going to say this out loud, but as he does, he realises it is what he _wants_ , more than anything.

Duncan laughs, but it's clearly surprise and not scorn. 'Is that all. How do you plan on finding such a place? Do you have a plan?'

'Yes.' Rhys has idly dreamed about this before. He thinks it can actually work, he just never has been in a position to try. 'You know how I used to go with Artrí? I can search for things when I do that, cover a lot of ground in a short time. And plants stand out. All living things do, but plants are what we need. I can guide you to what I find, and we can decide if it's a good place. It'll be a lot of searching and driving. And maybe it's for nothing. But maybe we get lucky.'

Duncan listens closely, and thinks it over, tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. It's hard to keep silent and not say more, but Rhys bites his lip to keep the words inside. If Duncan has questions, he will ask them.

'We can't put all our time into this. You know that. I don't want us to risk our lives for it. If food and water run low, we go back to scavenging until we have enough again. We need patience.' Duncan touches one of the bush tomato's leaves, just like he caressed Rhys earlier.

'But yeah. Let's give it a try. We might just get lucky. Even if it's just enough water to grow plants, not fit to drink for us. It would still be worth it.' The longing in Duncan's voice is just as strong as the one in Rhys' heart.

It's the same every time. Rhys lies down and then he is gone from his body, leaving Duncan to stand watch. At least Duncan knows what is going on now, and that Rhys will be back. And when Rhys starts to stir, Duncan comes to sit next to him, the question loud and clear on his face. 

Rhys only shakes his head. 

They both try to hide their disappointment from each other. 

Twice, Rhys finds something, but when they go there, they don't find a place to live. It's trees, roots reaching deep underground. 

One is a palm, all enormous bushy leaves and reddish fruits. Rhys takes a few of those even though he tells Duncan that they are not edible. The other is an acacia tree, dark green leaves and a drift of yellow flowers around the trunk and the rocks it leans to. They spend a day here while Rhys gathers gum from the trunk. He says it can be eaten, and it will keep them on their feet if they should run out of everything else. 

Both trees are taller than Duncan, and while Rhys busies himself with the harvest, Duncan stands and stares. He has never seen a plant this big. The palm tree's fronds are as long as he is tall. They have fallen into a deep, springy layer around the tree, offering shelter to lizards and bugs. Duncan hunts them, digging in the fallen fronds and catching them in his hands like Rhys taught him. He stops when he has enough for a meal. No sense in killing too many. Rhys also taught him that.

When it's time to leave, they both touch the trunks of the trees, saying a silent goodbye. They cannot stay. One tree is not enough.

The futility of their search sits at their fire. It walks with them. It rides with them as a silent passenger neither of them acknowledges. Until one evening, when Rhys comes back from another search. He is quiet, but accepts some water from Duncan. 

'Do you think the Woolies would let us stay?' Rhys passes the water bottle back to Duncan but doesn't look at him.

It's the one settlement they both feel comfortable enough with to even consider this. But Rhys has never wanted the risk of living this close with so many people. That he asks now tells Duncan just how tired he is. Tired of a long day, another fruitless search. And tired of drifting, directionless.

'I'm sure they would. Crusher has offered. She won't go back on it. But if we do this, we can't just up and leave again when we feel like it. It would lose us her trust, if nothing else.' Which is no small thing. Crusher's word has weight with many of the small settlements. And Duncan and Rhys depend on the goodwill of those settlements.

'Let's head there. I haven't looked in that area. I can keep searching while we drive. Another week. Maybe it is time to build something else.' Rhys doesn't seem happy about it, but he's clearly exhausted.

Duncan thinks about it. He reaches out to Rhys, and Rhys easily comes to sit with him, leaning against him.

'It's not what you really want. Maybe we can ask Crusher if she will take us in for a while. A few months. And then we decide for good. Gives us a chance to see if it works out for us.'

"Yes. That sounds reasonable. If Crusher is willing to go along with it, let's do that.' Rhys draws Duncan into a slow, tender kiss. 'You're right, it's not what my heart wants. But maybe it can be. If we work at it.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Info:  
> discussion of depression


	28. Entrainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The muffled roar of an engine makes Duncan freeze. It's thrown back by the wall of the small canyon they have taken shelter in. It's impossible to tell where it comes from._  
>  Duncan has to make a decision that might kill Rhys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entrainment: a turbulent flow capturing a non-turbulent flow

Duncan paces around the truck as the sun rises. Inside, Rhys lies on the back seat, still and silent. The only sign he is alive is the slow rise and fall of his chest, with long pauses between deep breaths.

He should have been back well before sunrise. Rhys never stays too long, not since they talked. Duncan would try to wake him, but he knows from experience that he can't. He also knows not to move Rhys. It's hard to find your way back to your body, Rhys has told him; maybe even impossible if it gets moved. 

So Duncan doesn't touch him. He's left with pacing and waiting and worrying.

The muffled roar of an engine makes him freeze. It's thrown back by the wall of the small canyon they have taken shelter in. It's impossible to tell where it comes from.

Grabbing his gun, Duncan climbs up the rocks, traversing boulders and handholds until he comes up into the sunlight and a better view of the Wastes. The rocks are still cold underneath him as he lies down between them and scans the desert.

Dust clouds rise up, turning into swirling sand devils. 

A scouting party.

Three cars and four bikes, much too close for his taste. He doesn't recognise any markings, but he doesn't care. Whoever it is, this is bad news. And they are coming right in his direction.

There's the blink of binoculars, or maybe a rifle scope across the distance, and Duncan ducks his head. The party swerves. The engines are getting louder by the second.

Fuck.

Duncan swings off the ledge, jumping and sliding and falling back down. He lands and rolls, adrenaline flooding his body and washing away any pain.

Rhys is still not back.

_Fuck._

If Duncan moves him, Rhys might never find his way back. But if he doesn't, Rhys might only find a dead body. Two, actually.

No time. He needs to move, now. Duncan jumps behind the wheel and guns the engine. Sand fountains up and the truck fishtails, threatening to swipe the canyon wall. The wheels drift, then find purchase, and Duncan drives as fast as he dares. 

The Woolies are close, and if Duncan can outrun the party long enough, he can seek shelter there. Crusher won't thank him, but Duncan doesn't care. 

The walls of the canyon fall away first on one, then the other side. Light floods into the truck, blinding Duncan. He doesn't slow down. He doesn't look back, either. Not at the scouting party, swinging in behind him from the left. Not at Rhys, dead weight on the backseat.

The road ahead is a long, winding stretch of nothing. Small dunes on either side won't hide him. If they catch up, or can stop him, both he and Rhys will be dead. Or Rhys will be dead, and Duncan a slave. 

Duncan wills the horns of the ram to appear on the horizon, but there's nothing.

The truck swallows up the road and spits out dust, hiding the scouting party from view. It also betrays his location better than any signal flare. The bikes catch up fast. There's two of them in the rear view mirror, and one to the side. One missing.

A huge shadow overhead makes Duncan's head snap up. Something clatters on the roof of the truck, slides off. The explosion misses the truck, but the blast pushes it forward and the wheels start to slide. Without thinking, Duncan speeds up.

In front of him, a bike has just landed, and it slips in the sand as well. The truck clips it, and the warrior goes flying, the bike spinning away. Fragments of glass from the driver's window shower Duncan as the hard impact jolts him.

The other two bikes are almost upon him, with a sleek black car right on their heels. It crouches low on the road, the grill snarling and chrome.

Duncan pulls open the roof of the truck, squinting against the wind slipping in through the window and out the roof past him. He claws at the glove compartment, then punches it open. It spills bags of roadkill jerky, screws, a hammer and several hand grenades. Duncan catches one of them, pulls the pin and lobs it overhead.

He floors the accelerator, ignoring the protesting howl of the engine. Behind him, fire blooms up and swallows one of the bikes. The other one pulls level with the truck, and the driver aims his shotgun through the broken window.

Duncan swerves and makes a desperate grab for the gun. The blast punches Duncan's eardrums as it goes off. Buckshot peppers the other door. All sounds fall away, leaving only a ringing in Duncan's ears.

Hands scrabble at his arm. The gun has dropped away, Duncan doesn't know where. He clutches at the hand clinging to his arm. Bones snap in his grip as he jerks the fingers up and back. The hand is gone, and he rams his elbow into the face of the warrior. The truck's back wheels go over a bump, and when Duncan has managed to get it under control again, the bike and the warrior are gone. 

The last bike falls away and makes way for the car. Glinting in the rear view mirror, the chrome grill bares shining teeth in a confident grin.

The truck picks up the last bit of speed it can give Duncan. He silently promises it everything a car could want if it will just get them to the Woolies. They hurtle along the road, the desert flying by in a blur. There's more hand grenades clattering around the footwell but Duncan doesn't dare to lean down and grab one. He does reach back and blindly grabs at the clutter of things knocked loose. 

A canteen of water. Good enough. 

He throws it overhead, up out of the sunroof. It bounces on the hood of the car behind him. Smashes into the windshield.

The car slows for a short moment. The windshield shows the impact, riddled with cracks. The man riding shotgun punches it out and the car accelerates again. Eating away what little distance Duncan has won. Hidden behind their goggles, the warriors grin just like their car. Eager for victory. 

Duncan scrabbles for more things to throw. He finds Rhys' seeds, shoves them back. He can't do that. 

Leaning on the hood, the passenger takes aim with a rifle. Swerving would slow Duncan down. He makes himself as small as he can. 

Shots punch holes in the truck. Sand sprays up next to it, quickly falling away.

The head of the big sheep looming above the horizon as they barrel up a rise in the road has never been more welcome to Duncan. The lookout on its head spots them and signals down with a flag. It tears the settlement out of its quiet morning.

The hunters are not ready to give up their prey. They fire again, and again. 

Something punches Duncan low on his side. Hard enough that he can't breathe for a moment. There's no pain. He ignores it.

Ahead of him, the Woolies are coming to meet them. Five vehicles, warriors riding on them. It's all they have. Duncan knows that. But maybe his pursuers don't. His vision blurs, and he struggles to breathe. With a death grip on the steering wheel, he keeps the truck pointed at the oncoming vehicles. 

His pursuers slow. The cars at the back have already fallen away, and the sleek hunter at his heels comes to a stop. For a moment, it just sits there. Then it turns, racing away, the engine howling in protest. Unhappy to give up the chase.

Duncan slows, but doesn't stop. He keeps driving, and catches up with the Woolies as they turn and head back. They allow him to join them. At the settlement, Duncan hurries to check on Rhys, ignoring everything else. He pays no mind to the pain in his back and side, no mind to the Woolies gathering round and no mind to Crusher demanding answers in a sharp tone.

Rhys is limp and heavy as Duncan pulls him out of the truck. He's still breathing, and the chase has left him unharmed except for some bruises and scrapes. But he won't wake. Duncan knows he can't. He's lost somewhere, and Rhys has often warned Duncan to never move his body when he's like this. Not even a little bit. And now Duncan has driven miles with him.

He looks up at Crusher, whose expression is furious. Normally, that would terrify Duncan, but now he doesn't care. 

'What do you think you're doing, leading them right to us? We can't fight your battles, you fucking know that. No one here wants to die for a couple of drifters!' She stands over Duncan, hands to her hips and glares down at him.

'I'm sorry. But Rhys—' Duncan gestures helplessly. He has no idea how to explain without telling her everything. 'I need to go. Find help for him.' 

Crusher roasts him for a moment longer in her fierce gaze and then softens. 'Right. But if you ever bring that kind of trouble to my door again, I will shoot him and you myself.'

Standing up, Duncan lays Rhys down in the back of the truck. He brushes a strand of hair out of Rhys' face, staring down at him. He gives a silent promise to make this right. Somehow.

'What's wrong with him?' Crusher has come to stand next to Duncan, squinting at Rhys. 'Where do you want to go?'

Both are questions Duncan has no idea how to answer. And he has never been able to lie to Crusher. Telling her the truth is impossible. He trusts her, but this is a secret that isn't his to tell. And she cannot help anyway.

She barks a laugh, not without sympathy.

'Nevermind. I can see you trying to come up with some story, I don't want to hear it. If you want, you can take one of our dune buggies. They're fast, but not as noisy as your truck. And they do better off road. Just in case that scouting party is still somewhere out there.' 

Duncan's answer is waved away. 'When you don't come back, we get all your stuff. Good trade for a dune buggy. Just don't come back with a whole war party in tow.'

'Thank you.' Duncan wants to say more, but Crusher just nods and walks away, yelling at one of her people to give Duncan a dune buggy and show him where to park the truck.

In no time, Duncan is on his way again, with some water and supplies and Rhys strapped in next to him. Duncan can't look at him long. If he does, he can't help but wonder if it's already too late and if he will be left with this husk. If he hasn't already doomed Rhys' mind to drift and slowly dissolve, like a plant that withers and falls to dust. And he cannot help but think about what he is supposed to do then. Kill Rhys? Drag his body around in the hope that he finds his way back? How long until Duncan knows he won't? How long until he has to face the fact that he has lost Rhys?

He has no answer to any of these questions. 

Taking a roundabout route, but at the top speed the dune buggy can give him, Duncan drives towards their campsite. Sand stings every inch of skin not covered by cloth or goggles, thrown at them by a steady wind. The buggy gives them almost no shelter. 

Every breath is an ache in his side, and he can't seem to fill his lungs. It gets to the point where Duncan stops and pulls open his clothes to check if he isn't bleeding. There's a spot that looks like it will turn into a bruise, and it's tender to the touch. But nothing else. Duncan drives on and shoves that worry aside as well. Maybe it's just a bruised rib. He's had those before. Maybe it's something worse, but if it is, there's nothing he can do.

He gets to the campsite. The wind has already started to cover the tracks of the chase, and there's no one in sight. Taking a moment to get his bearings, Duncan parks the buggy where he thinks the truck was, and lifts Rhys out of it to lay him down on a blanket on the sand. He puts up a tarp to protect them from the worst of the sun and then sits down and waits.

Every now and then, he lifts Rhys' head to give him water. Rhys' body accepts it and swallows. It keeps breathing, so slowly that Duncan puts a hand on Rhys chest to feel his heartbeat. It's just as slow as his breathing. In the eternity between heartbeats and the rise and fall of Rhys' chest, Duncan is afraid that Rhys has died. Has simply slipped away from him. 

Duncan's mind is at the same time numb and hyper-aware. Rhys' breaths are the loudest thing around, and he breathes in time with them. Everything else falls away until the gentle movement of Rhys' chest under his palm is all there is.

The day passes them by. Sand starts to pile up in tiny hills around the edges of the tarp and the wheels of the buggy. A lizard comes to spend the hottest part of the day with them, sharing the shade with the two unmoving shapes it doesn't register as dangerous. It leaves when the day gets cooler and the desert screamers come out of hiding. Their incessant noise rises into the air, even louder than the wind. The setting sun throws long shadows from the hills, golden light climbing up the cliff face behind the camp until it is left in darkness.

Duncan has been wandering in his thoughts, a waking dream of an empty landscape where he keeps climbing dunes, only to find more once he has reached the crest. 

One foot in front of the other. 

One step after the other. 

One breath after the other.

Step.

Breathe.

Pause.

Step. 

Breathe.

Pause.

Step.

Breathe.

Panicked gasp.

The dunes crumble, and Duncan falls forward, catches himself with one hand on Rhys' chest. Rhys' eyes are wide open, the white in them bright in the gloom of nightfall. He arches up under Duncan's hand, his body convulsing. It's like back at the ork settlement, but this time there is nothing to run from. 

Duncan hugs Rhys to himself. He doesn't know what else to do. In his arms, Rhys' body jerks one more time and then grows still. But his hands clutch at Duncan's jacket, and his breathing is loud and quick. He's _alive_ and Duncan holds him tight until he has calmed down, whispering to him that everything is okay, they are safe, they are together.

Rhys shudders and crawls into Duncan's lap, hiding in his arms.

'What happened?' His voice is barely audible even in the quiet of the night desert. Duncan hands him the water canteen and helps him drink.

'Scouting party. I had to run. Take your body and get away. I'm so sorry, I didn't—'

Rhys holds up a hand to Duncan's lips, the touch of his fingers gentle.

'You came back for me. And you did what you had to to keep us safe.' He runs a shaking hand through Duncan's mohawk. Duncan takes his hand and kisses the palm.

'I was scared you wouldn't come back.'

'Me too. I was so lost. My body was gone, and I couldn't find it, or you. I was adrift, and then even Artrí was gone. I didn't know what to do, but I waited. I knew you would be back. That you wouldn't abandon me like this. But I was afraid you had been killed. That we both were dead, and I just didn't know it yet.' Rhys' voice shakes like his hand, and this time it's Duncan who brings his fingers to Rhys' lips.

'Ssh. It's over. You're back, and we're safe. But we should get back to the Woolies. The truck's there, and I don't want to run into another scouting party in this dune buggy. You can rest there.' Duncan tries to untangle himself from Rhys, and winces at the dull ache in his side.

'Are you hurt? Let me see.' Rhys looks at him, eyes unfocused. 

Duncan is by now used to Rhys' astral sense, but still in awe of it. He holds his breath when Rhys places his hand over the exact spot where the pain sits, and then lets it out in a long sigh at the warm tingling of magic under his skin. It chases away the pain, leaving only the warmth behind.

'Thank you.' He leans in to kiss Rhys and then gets up, pulling Rhys to his feet easily. They gather up their things, and drive off into the night, leaving only tire tracks and small mounds of sand. 

Come dawn, even these will be gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content info:  
> canon typical violence
> 
> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium)


	29. Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'I found a place. I think it's a Green Place. I can't promise, we need to go look at it. But I've never seen anything like it.' Rhys' heart beats swiftly. He wants to leave right now, confirm what he thinks. Make sure no one else takes it away from them._  
>  A home, to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oasis: fertile area in the desert, literally 'dwelling place'

On the way back to the Woolies, Rhys is quiet. He sits with one hand on Duncan's thigh, keeping hold of him. Even after finding his way back to his body, he is shaken. 

Exhaustion sits like lead in his bones, but he can't sleep. He's terrified of waking up and being lost again. Astral space has always been a refuge for him. He knows that just going to sleep won't get him there, but he still forces himself to stay awake, pinching himself to keep from nodding off.

When they reach the Woolies, Crusher is up and comes to meet them. Rhys suspects she doesn't ever sleep. She is always around when they come here. Maybe he should ask for her secret.

The thought surprises a laugh out of him. It's small, but it does take some of the fear with it.

Crusher doesn't ask questions. They're here, they're alive. That is all there is to know. Rhys appreciates it. They barter some aqua cola for a place to stay. Crusher may be glad to see them, but that doesn't mean she hands out gifts. Rhys appreciates that, too. He always knows where he stands with her.

Once they are inside the lean-to shack, Duncan sits down heavily on the pile of blankets. Rhys can see bags under Duncan's eyes, and he knows that he himself doesn't look any better. They should sleep. But Rhys can't. He comes to sit with Duncan, takes his hand.

'I found a place. I think it's a Green Place. I can't promise, we need to go look at it. But I've never seen anything like it.' Rhys' heart beats swiftly. He wants to leave right now, confirm what he thinks. Make sure no one else takes it away from them.

'Can you find it again? Even after— being lost?' Duncan's eyes have gone wide and he grips Rhys' hand painfully hard.

'I need to go and look. I think I can find it, but I need to go slow, back in astral space. Then I can come back here and tell you where to go as we drive.' Even as he says it, Rhys turns cold with dread, his palms sweaty.

Duncan comes to hug him, holds him close. 'Not now. You need rest. And the Green Place will be there, tomorrow, too.'

It already is tomorrow, the first light of dawn painting the head of the giant sheep outside pink. Duncan closes the shutter on the crude window, darkens the room. Once Rhys has settled in Duncan's arms, sleep pulls him down. It happens so quickly, his fear cannot keep up.

Floating in place, Rhys gives a last touch to the dark green cord connecting his body to him. Next to it sits Duncan, blueish green tinged with violet worry. Reluctantly, Rhys turns away and focuses on the Green Place. The memory pulls him along, the desert a black mass below him.

Pinpoints of life glow everywhere, bright colours against the black. Plants in the shade of a boulder, lizards, insects, even lichen, all lighting up the darkness. And sometimes, scattered far and wide, people.

Rhys travels slowly, taking his time and memorising landmarks as best as he can. The Green Place is hidden away, deep in a jumble of rocky hills. It's small, but there are more plants than Rhys has ever seen in one place out in the Wastes. He can't wait to show it to Duncan. There are _trees_ , and smaller plants growing around them. 

Finding his way back is like firing an arrow. Once he focuses on it, the connection to his body rapidly shrinks, pulling Rhys with it. The landscape turns into a blur, the green tendril pulling him along the only thing in focus.

Sinking into his body again, Rhys draws a deep breath and opens his eyes. His limbs are heavy and clumsy, as they always are when he comes back from astral space where a thought is enough to move.

Duncan hasn't moved at all, still sits by his side. Rhys smiles up at him.

'I can find it.'

'Then let's go.'

And just like that, they pack their things and leave.

The rock face in front of them is high and steep, cutting off the path they have been edging along in the truck. 

'Fuck.' Duncan shares a glance with Rhys, full of worry, and gets out of the truck. So far, Rhys has led them unerringly, navigating by landmarks and instinct. Duncan hopes their trip won't end here.

They walk up to the rock and find a path so narrow Duncan can touch either side without having to stretch out his arms. No sunlight reaches them, their steps echoing between the high walls almost meeting overhead. At the end, there's a rockfall.

There's no need to talk it out. They both start clearing it out of their way. Together, they shift even the larger rocks until they can squeeze through. They take some supplies and the bush tomato in its pot, and then they walk.

The path winds further into the hills, littered but not blocked with rocks fallen from above. It's quiet, except for the crunch of sand and pebbles underfoot, and cool. Rhys leads the way along the narrow canyon.

When the walls fall away to either side of them, Rhys grabs Duncan's hand and squeezes so hard it hurts. But Duncan barely notices. He is too busy staring at the Green Place.

It sits like a bowl between rock walls rising to all sides, sloping back gently. There are _trees_ , three of them, each taller than Duncan. Their slender leaves litter the ground, together with brown husks and yellow flowers. Acacias.

There are more, smaller, plants, scattered around the foot of the walls. Their leaves are dark green, and they have flowers in such bright colours Duncan can barely believe they are real. 

He can barely believe _any_ of this is real. 

To their left, the rock opens up, a dark entrance. They walk in carefully, half expecting someone to be already here, ready to fight for their claim. But there is no one.

There is water. It wells up in a small pool and runs off between the rocks, vanishing underground again. Duncan can see it moving at the bottom of the pool, sand particles dancing this way and that in the current. 

'Taste it? Please tell me it's good.' Rhys barely whispers, the enormity of his hope choking him.

Duncan goes down on one knee and cups water in his hands. It's cool, tasting of stone. It's as clean as any aqua cola.

'It's good. See for yourself.'

Rhys kneels next to Duncan. He takes a drink out of his hollow hand, and another. And then he leans into Duncan and cries. And laughs, and cries. And Duncan holds him, laughing and crying with him.

It is their Green Place.

It is everything they wanted.

The water stays sweet. The ground is not sour. The plants grow, and flower, and bear fruit. No one comes to claim it. No one finds it.

It's safe.

It's their home.

Duncan picks a handful of bush tomatoes from the plant they have grown in Keeper's soil. Rhys has told him it will stop bearing fruit soon, but they have planted seeds and next season, they will have more. He eats one of the tomatoes and it bursts in his mouth, sweet and tangy.

The others he takes to Rhys who is sitting in front of the cave. They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, until they have eaten all the tomatoes. Usually they trade them, but these last few they keep to themselves.

'Have you figured out what it says?' Duncan cranes his neck to look at the wordburger in Rhys' lap. It's stuffed full of scraps of paper with notes in Rhys' careful hand.

'No. Well. A little bit. It's another language. But look here,' Rhys holds out the wordburger to him, shows him a page almost at the end of it.

Duncan has been learning to read. It's a slow process but he has kept at it. Now, his eyes slide off of all the unknown words but stick to a couple in the middle of the page.

_Plains of Silence_

'Do you think they went there? Tried to cross?' Duncan gives a shiver at the thought. He has seen the Plains. Nothing out there but sand, and salt, and the silence of death.

'Maybe. I can imagine that whoever survived that massacre was desperate enough to try.' Rhys pets the wordburger, running a finger down the margin of the page before closing it.

'Do you want to go look for them?' Duncan finds that he doesn't want to. But he would, for Rhys.

Rhys aimlessly pets the smooth leather cover of the wordburger as he thinks about his answer, taking his time with it. He's sure Duncan would go, for him, but Rhys doesn't want to. He doesn't want to uproot Duncan, or himself. Not for a vague hint among words he cannot read. 

'No. Maybe if I find out more. If I know for sure. But not just for this.' Rhys gestures at the wordburger. 'If we ever find out where they went, we will talk about it. Until then, I want to stay here. With you, in the home we made.'

Duncan gives him a smile and leans in to kiss him, one hand tenderly cupping the back of Rhys' neck. Rhys' heart beat faster at seeing Duncan content and happy, and at sharing that happiness.

They get up and go inside, holding hands. The bush tomato folds its purple flowers as the sun sets. Its roots have reached the water flowing underground, and it is here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Crimsonherbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium) \- thank you so much for all your support and help, and for squeeing and yelling at me in the beta notes!
> 
> If you haven't read it yet, there is a sequel to: [Building a Ruin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437643/chapters/48487082) \- and there will be a third part. But first, I am going to take a break of a month and then start my new Shadowrun story with Duncan and Rhys, The Abyss Dreams. I would love to see you guys there! 
> 
> Thank you for reading - this story is close to my heart and I loved writing it very much. I loved talking to you all in the comments, thank you for that. Hello to my silent readers - I don't know you but I appreciate you very much. Feel free to say hello!


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